


Captain America: Sons of War

by Cryofreeze



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action, Angst, BAMF Bucky Barnes, BAMF Steve Rogers, Beefy Bucky, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky has one arm through the whole fic, Bucky/T'Challa friendship, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Frenemies Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Infinity War AU, M/M, Minor Sharon Carter/Steve Rogers, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pre-Infinity War, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Slow Burn, Stucky - Freeform, Tony isn't really a bad guy, brief Bucky/Natasha, disabled Bucky, glimpses of torture, tags will be added as the story is updated to avoid spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-03-15 12:30:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 42,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13613424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryofreeze/pseuds/Cryofreeze
Summary: The Avengers Initiative is over, Steve Rogers is a wanted criminal who has gone off the radar, and Tony Stark is out for the blood of the man who killed his parents and ripped his team apart. Meanwhile, Bucky Barnes is suffering from the long-lasting effects of his time as Hydra's assassin and believes all hope is lost for him.Steve has other ideas and is prepared to do whatever it takes to help him find peace, while Bucky just wants to keep his best friend safe from those hunting him.But to do so, he has to find him first...~ ~ ~ ~Prepare yourself for a huge plot-driven, action-packed, canon-compliant (until post Civil War), multi-chaptered angst fest that I have been preparing for almost 2 years, and I really hope you enjoy the ride!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been a very long time in the making and I can't believe I'm finally posting it! I started coming up with the plot in the months following Civil War, thinking I'd have it up on Ao3 pretty soon afterwards. Turns out I had to plan the whole thing first and then sit on it forever until I was happy with it, and now it's pretty much an Infinity War AU! 
> 
> So this story takes place after Civil War and disregards everything from Infinity War, as I knew nothing about it when I started planning this and obviously the film isn't out yet so I couldn't incorporate anything from it anyway :P 
> 
> For now, I hope you enjoy chapter one! x)

 

An alarm was droning somewhere in the distance, muffled behind a polished, reinforced door. Abandoned office chairs, blinking lights and flickering, holographic flat screens decorated the otherwise vacant lab while broken cables crackled from where they littered the room.

Outside, the floor to ceiling windows captured the inky blackness of the African night.

Heavy _thunks_ of metal were growing louder from behind the door, also; footsteps, deeper and grander than any man. Then, suddenly, a deafening crunch ignited from the door and a slew of sparks began to shower from the hinges. It didn't take long until it was blasted inwards with a thundering screech and a flash of orange, leaving long score marks along the floor tiles before it rocked to a stop.

Now, in the empty doorway, a silhouette stood tall: every smooth surface and iron plate of his armour reflected the many twinkling dials from around the lab and the ethereal glow from the cryotube resting in its centre. The Iron Man stepped into the laboratory and over the twisted remains of the door frame, assessing his new surroundings with a slow swivel of his head.

The lab was in a very un-Wakandan state of disrepair, with papers strewn across disorderly desks and half stuffed into briefcases that had eventually been left behind... Clearly the scientists had evacuated at the first sound of the alarm, Tony noted, and he was glad, really, because his quarrel wasn't with them.

The tank was still there, however – unguarded, unopened... it almost seemed too easy...

Thin tubes ran along the ceiling and the floor, disappearing inside the solid base of the machine. It wasn't difficult to guess they were what provided the necessary temperature drop to keep its inhabitant secure.

Tony carefully stepped over them and approached the looming device standing tall in the middle of the lab, suddenly aware of how loud the mechanics of his suit were in the uninhabited place.

A sudden hiss from behind made Tony jump and wheel around, his palm raised in anticipation of an attack. It was just one of the cables, sparking brightly where it dangled off one of the desks. Tony turned back toward the large cryotube, dismissing the creeping sensation of being watched.

“Friday, how're those ninjas we just took out? Any sign of them advancing?” He asked quietly, his clanking boots still too loud against the background alarm.

“The King's guard don't seem to have regained consciousness yet.”

“Good, I'm not really in the mood for a rematch. And we're not anticipating an intervention by one super soldier ex-Captain right about now, are we?” He asked his AI, eyes darting around the room from beneath his helmet.

“Negative. No heat signatures detected on this floor or the next.”

At this, Tony let out his breath in a relieved little sigh. “Well, let's hope that luck stays on our side...”

He finally came to a stop before the vast cryotube, taller even than his Iron Man suit. Ice covered the convex curve of glass, a thick, intricate design that trailed up the whole length of the thing. He could just barely hear the hum of working machinery coming from inside, and a pale glow seemed to radiate from the glass itself.

Tony opened up his helmet for better clarity and peered through the frost pattern, awkwardly scratching through the top coat with his palm to make out a dark figure beneath the translucent surface, encased in a tomb of ice. A man.

“Barnes.” He stated darkly, growled through gritted teeth.

“He's frozen, Boss.”

Tony rolled his eyes, taken out of the moment. “Yeah I can see that, thank you.”

He then proceeded to use his hand blasters to carefully melt a little window in the frost of the cyrotube. The light twinkling on the chiselled face revealed inside rendered the man unmistakable, even through the distorted lens of rippling water droplets left behind on the glass. A thrill of nerves and loathing coursed through Tony's veins at the discovery, finally so close beneath just one sheet of glass...

James Buchanan Barnes was just a man, as mortal and vulnerable as he ever could be. He couldn't even fight back if Tony chose to kill him right there – it would be over so quickly and painlessly for the monster who deserved a fate much more befitting of his crimes. That thrill bled into a festering ache deep in the place where Tony's arc reactor used to be before he shook himself out of it.

Don't lose your head, he told himself, though he resented containing the tremble of hatred that shivered over him at the sight of that murderer again. Tony tore his eyes away from Barnes' sleeping face and onto the cryotube he was slumbering in instead: it looked very highly advanced, technology Tony would love to get a proper look at some time, but for the sake of avoiding another run-in with the Wakandan guard he decided to bypass the opportunity this time.

“Let's see what we have here...” He said to himself, glancing over the flickering screens around the walls of the lab and settling on one on the closest desk.

Evidentially the Wakandan scientists had scrambled their monitors in an attempt to conceal their work under such short notice, but Tony, of course, prided himself on his genius, and it didn't take long for him to recover some sense over the tech. Then it was only a simple matter of deciphering the gist of what the information was telling him, even if he wasn't versed in Wakandan. Numbers didn't lie.

“They've already started to defrost Sleeping Beauty here, but at this rate it looks like it's gonna take some time for him to properly thaw.”

Tony paced back over to the cryotube, noting the slow, translucent veil of mist curling off the glass as it microscopically warmed by the minute, in tandem with the steady tick of increasing vitals on screen. Even since he'd entered the lab that patch of ice he'd cleared was already transparent enough now to see the face inside almost completely; immobile, deathly pale, Bucky Barnes unfurled from the depths of the cold haze surrounding him. A dome of metal curved above his head, cocooning him in glass and ice, and he appeared to have been strapped into the device. The man's hair and eyelashes were coated with icicles and there were no signs he was even breathing. He looked the very definition of 'death'.

“How long until he wakes up?” Friday asked.

“How long d'you think it'll take me to fly this thing back home...?” Tony eyed the little metal railings at each side of the glass, calculating that he could definitely take the weight. It was, in fact, the perfect plan.

“You can't be serious –”

“Do you have a better idea that doesn't involve us getting found and ravaged by the King and his Powerpuff girls?”

“'Powerpuff girls'?” Friday repeated, unimpressed.

Tony ignored her as he sized up the cryotube, taking into account how it was bolted deep into the floor. It would take some fire power but ultimately shouldn't be anything he couldn't handle, though the tubes running into the device were clearly trying to slowly return Barnes to human temperature. If he removed them the process would speed up exponentially, but there was no way Tony could remove the tank from the temple as it was.

“Scan those cables.” He watched the image appear on his visor, giving him a clear view of what he had to work with.

Sure enough, they were drawing energy from within the wall and feeding it into the cryotank to maintain the desired temperature. It wasn't too complex a setup, and Tony's mind began whirring quickly.

“Hmm. Maybe I can re-route the power source to keep him in ice till we – ”

“Sir, movement detected.” Friday announced into his ear, an element of urgency in her tone.

“Great, Rogers: perfect timing as usual...” Tony chided, looking around the lab in an effort to spot the super soldier.

He'd been expecting this – of course there would be no show without Punch. He'd actually been lucky to even get _this_ far without Rogers meddling in affairs of the state again...

“It's not Captain Rogers, Sir.”

“ _Ex-_ Captain Rogers, Friday, c'mon!” Then Tony hesitated, realising what she'd said. “Wait. Who is it then...?”

Before he could come to the reasonable conclusion himself, a delicate shape dropped down from somewhere above them, landing silently in a feline crouch before Iron Man.

“Mister Stark.” The shape stood fluidly, exuding the air of unmistakable royalty even beneath the Panther's suit.

“Your Highness.” He mockingly tipped his head in reply.

“I did not invite you here. You have fought my people, betrayed my trust – ” Despite the calmness T'Challa commanded, the seething anger was evident, crawling off of him in graceful waves.

“Oh good, so it's mutual then.” Tony interrupted, blood flaring in his veins, and he began taking a few fidgeting paces to help remain somewhat calm. “I'd hate you to feel left out. Y'know, it seems there has been a lot of _betrayed trust_ recently. I'd hoped it had ended with _Cap_ running off into the sunset with a murderer, but...” He shrugged his shoulders exaggeratedly, peering directly into the milky eyes of the Black Panther. “I guess you never really know who your friends are.”

It was too late to keep his cool, now. With T'Challa in his suit and poised for a fight, Tony knew there was no quietly getting out of here with Barnes in tow.

There was a tense moment of silence where the King very clearly thought the same thing, trained fists curling and uncurling at his sides. “Step away from the cyrotube, Mister Stark, and I will allow you to be taken into custody.”

“Oh – you'll 'allow me'?” Tony repeated incredulously, his eyebrows rising up his forehead.

“Either that or you will die. Make your choice wisely, for I will not let you take what you came here for.” There was a _shriiing_ of metal as silver claws were unsheathed on the Panther's hands.

Tony fumed, insulted. Hadn't he received enough injustice to last the next decade already?! Now he was mad.

“You're defending a murderer! _This_ man is the bad guy here – I'm just trying to bring justice to the people he killed!” He shouted, pointing an iron finger at the calm, sleeping face so close by. Tony wanted to crush it, but resisted the urge. He could channel his anger for more purposeful means.

“I will protect any innocent man from his captors. And he _is_ an innocent man.”

Tony scoffed in exasperation, furious as to how far back this disloyalty ran. “You went against the team! Against the Accords, that _your_ father helped create to bring _peace_! How could you just change sides without a speck of remorse?”

“Mister Barnes did not kill my father.” T'Challa stated, so true and strong in his beliefs.

Tony clenched his jaw to stop from shaking in rage and injustice. He was acutely aware of the time slipping away; how long he had before T'Challa's backup arrived, how long before Barnes awoke, how long it would take to fly the fugitive back to America. He didn't have time for formalities.

“Well he killed mine.”

The sound of the iron helmet sliding back into place was cue enough for the Panther to pounce, but Tony was braced for an attack. He reflexively aimed and fired a strong burst of energy from his palm to stop T'Challa's trajectory, but wasn't expecting the man to impossibly twist his body in mid-air and expertly avoid the onslaught – an awful screech sliced down Iron Man's face, turning his head at the impact and sending him reeling backwards while sparks littered the air between both men.

Tony staggered on his feet, the display in his helmet stuttering, clearly badly affected by the hit to the face. When he caught his balance he rounded on T'Challa, glaring with affronted shock at what the man had just done: there was now a cruel trail of claw marks travelling down half of his mask.

If T'Challa had made himself clear, then Tony was now bound to do the same.

“Oh, he's goin' down.” He muttered to Friday before launching into a counter attack that sent the Black Panther running. After a few mad seconds of dodging each other, near misses of energy bolts and hits swinging past each other's bodies, Tony grunted when claws and feet rocketed into his chest and forced him further away from the cryotube again and, most importantly, from Barnes.

The King landed neatly in front of the cryotube in a defensive stance. Claws sung with withheld energy as the Black Panther held his hand aloft, strained and ready for another attack.

Tony just had time to charge up another blast in his fist with a long, high pitched tone before the King struck: a flash of silver sliced through the air and through the stockpile of tubes running into the back of the cryotank, severing the connection and simultaneously spilling a fierce, cold gust into the rest of the lab. A loud hiss of ice escaping rent the air as mist choked and coiled out of the tank and pooled away across the floor in stretching tendrils.

Shit – Tony couldn't let T'Challa wake up Barnes before he could get the man home! Every passing second was a moment closer to the fugitive opening his eyes, he was scrutinizingly aware of, and he needed to get Barnes out of here _now_.

“Oh no you don't...” He shot at the man in retaliation, growling when the blast only caused the King to topple backwards on his feet before he was right back in the game. Tony cast a furtive glance to the bolts still embedding the tank into the floor. They looked entirely sturdy, but he already knew he was going to have to dial up the power to take on his Wakandan foe... “Friday, up it!”

“Right you are, Boss.” She complied without fail. At least his trusty AI would never turn her back on him, Tony thought bitterly as he used both hands to aim and shape a blast into Black Panther's legs.

It had the desired effect, as when the King leapt to safety Tony then took his chance to open fire on the bolts of the cryotube without T'Challa to block him. He only had a moment, but a moment was enough, as a loud squealing of strained metal followed the dislodging of the foundations of the tank.

“Hit successful, Sir.” Friday stated.

“Yeah, thank you,” Tony muttered, distracted when he saw T'Challa coming at him again from the left – a black silhouette against a brightening sky and vast windows. He side stepped him quickly, spinning around to keep his target in his scope and sending quick little bolts after the acrobatic King.

As T'Challa flipped and danced around the lab, icy mist was rapidly filling the air and making everything hazy. Tony's shots only followed him around like a trail, missing with every one.

“Left! _Left,_ Boss. He's behind you! _Behind you –_!”

“How 'bout you shut up and let me drive, huh? I don't need a running commentary – just tell me when it's _important_!” Tony grunted, satisfied when his AI listened to him for once.

Icy fog filled the room until the men became just a blur of shapes, fighting in the midst of it and making quick work of the lab until it became total and utter chaos. Soon, the only thing left intact was the cryotube and the two warriors battling it out in the debris. It was like a sick game of tug of war, both men racing around the one thing they were both intent on keeping the other off of at all costs, as Tony tried to reach and dislodge the icy chamber and T'Challa tried gravely to protect it.

Tony's heart skipped a beat when he saw how rapidly the awakening process was working: with the new angle of the man strapped inside the tube, he could see that his long dark hair was wet and limp now instead of rigid and icy. If he didn't get Barnes out of here soon he'd have an even bigger problem on his hands...! He knew that T'Challa was only stalling him until backup arrived, or the Winter Soldier awoke and hopped in on the action himself, but Tony wasn't willing to let that happen.

Growling in frustration, he dodged another of T'Challa's swipes of his claws and finally managed to land a solid hit himself! The Panther yowled in pain and anger as he was flung backwards through the air and crashed into something solid. The tinkle of cracking glass was sharp and ominous against the droning of the alarm still singing somewhere in the distance, and then a screech of protesting metal cried out as the cryotube began to tilt.

Both men froze, staring at each other in a prolonged moment of horror before T'Challa finally neglected Tony in favour of the tank; slowly but surely it was toppling over, the image of Barnes inside now more clear than ever as more ice escaped into the room instead of his coffin. T'Challa hurriedly rounded the tube and pushed against the glass, the lean shape of his body like a black, carved pillar of support as he tried in vain to catch the incredible weight. Eventually, the cryotube slowed then finally stopped in his hands.

Tony watched the scene, panting for breath as he allowed his mild panic to dissipate. Actually, this wasn't a bad turn of events, he realised. T'Challa was now trapped in his position to protect Barnes, their faces just inches apart and separated only by that pane of glass. If the man were to just look up he would meet the eyes of the Wakandan King.

The perfect ultimatum presented itself to Tony's mind then, and he held up his armoured hand in perfect alignment to the elongated expanse of the Panther's torso as it stretched up to hold the tank in place.

“Uh oh. Looks like we've come across a speed bump.” He said, his aim locked-on to his target.

T'Challa said nothing, though little grunts of effort made their way out from behind the Panther's mask unwittingly. He was managing to keep the cryotube from falling any further – fairly impressive, if Tony was honest – but the machine was heavy, and even the Black Panther had his limits.

They probably didn't have long. That upped the urgency in Tony's quarter.

“I'm takin' Barnes. You can't stop me.” He stated determinedly. “I'm not really planning on killing you, Your Majesty, so if you let me take him I'll make sure they ease up on your punishment for betraying the Accords and harbouring a known criminal. That's my best offer.”

Tony's eyes flicked to Barnes' limp frame, still menacing even in his current state as his bulging torso strained against the strap across his chest, and he noticed for the first time the unseemly little stump where the metal arm used to be. It only further fuelled the fire for vengeance, no, _justice_ coursing through his body.

If only he'd managed to get him back in Siberia, none of them would be here like this right now.

He'd grown used to the blaring alarm, barely registering it now, and every pop and clang of something giving way from within the cryotube made Tony's nerves flare. T'Challa still said nothing, evidentially keeping his energy for stopping the huge hulk of machinery from crushing him. He was succeeding, but then the tides turned again and the weight of the cyrotube began to overcome the King as Tony watched on.

“Careful, Your Highness, I'm trying to take him in alive!” He took a step forward, contemplating just grabbing Barnes and splitting. That tank looked pretty heavy, but he knew his suit was much stronger than the Black Panther's muscle.

T'Challa was now beginning to tremble visibly from the strain on his body, his feet slipping back helplessly on the tiles and his masked face watching Barnes' sleeping form just out of reach. He didn't need to say anything for Tony to know the King was thinking quickly, and when he finally bit out a reply it was laced with effort.

“You cannot take him at all.”

And then he let go.

Things seemed to move in slow motion: T'Challa dived out of the way, Tony reached out helplessly as if he could have caught the coffin in time, and Barnes tumbled towards the ground inside of his chamber – the tank twisted around with momentum before a thundering _crash_ reverberated through the floor, the sound ringing and repeating in Tony's ears as he shielded his masked face with his arms and shards of glass shot out in every direction, scattering across the room.

When the initial collision was over, Tony peeked at the twisted remains of the once proud cryotube, rolling slightly on it's cylindrical frame and still spitting out last bouts of ice from the broken ports where the tubes used to feed into it.

Through the impaired view of his helmet, Tony blinked at the scene, taking a dumb step closer. His heart was hammering, his legs felt like they'd turned to jelly, and he slid open his visor to better take in the scene through the heavy haze still lingering in the air.

Perhaps the ice had pierced through his skin and into his bones, because suddenly all he felt was cold. Cold at the thought of The Winter Soldier rising from the mist, hell bent on revenge and devouring him in an instant; cold at the prospect that Tony had invaded a Wakandan temple only to emerge with nothing to show for it; cold at the knowledge that even a super soldier could die, and if he just had, Barnes would never pay for what he did to Tony or his parents.

That thought kick-started him back into action and he hurried over to the mess of tubes, glass and metal and reached out a hand to turn the thing around –

When he was hauled back suddenly and unexpectedly with such force he was sent staggering backwards. Tony instinctively pushed himself back upright with a quick burst from his boots before he spotted the King coming after him again, running on all fours like an animal on the hunt. When he pounced, Tony managed to grab the man by the legs and lift him right off the ground.

T'Challa snarled and scrabbled at the Iron grip on him, causing Tony's flight patten to go a little haywire as he scratched and played dirty with those ten evil daggers. There was nowhere to fly: the room was low, disorientating and still smoky with mist. When Tony was finally forced to let go, he flung the King off of him in an attempt to re-engage in a more promising assault –

He didn't mean to throw the man into one of the large glass windows surrounding the lab with tremendous force.

With a last cry reminiscent of the Panther's growl, T'Challa melded into the grey dawn as the glass shattered beneath him and he disappeared through the gaping window.

The lingering smog in the lab was sucked out into the open air after the King and Tony watched in silence and shock as what had just happened slowly began to make sense in his mind.

“Oh no.” He uttered, kicking himself into gear a moment later and speeding after the King's last trajectory.

Outside, the evacuation alarm was dulled from the depths of the building and the burbling lark of the jungle was slowly rising in the air. Without the fight to distract him, or the _zing!_ of metal claws on metal armour in his ears, Tony realised in horror what he'd just done. His heart was hammering with more than just adrenaline now as he hastily scanned the landscape below for any sign of the man he'd just thrown to his fate.

“Check for heat signatures!” He ordered Friday, sliding his helmet back over his face and watching as his vision inside adjusted with a few glitches. With the interface jarring slightly, damaged from the Black Panther's claw, it was impossible to distinguish his target amongst the thriving, surrounding life of the African Jungle.

Tossing the Wakandan King from his own temple had to have been one of the most stupid things Tony had ever done, he already knew. But at least, he tried to tell himself, they weren't _that_ high up. Maybe he would find the King in the branches of one of the trees, just below the canopy –

But before he could follow through on his desperate claim, Friday was speaking urgently into his ear. “Boss! Movement detected behind you!”

Tony's stomach turned with icy dread, and he span in the air expecting a huge blond mass of blue, white and red muscle to tackle him from the sky. What he saw instead was far worse.

“Oh crap...” He muttered, more to himself than to Friday, and flew back in through the window to the destroyed lab, having entirely forgotten about T'Challa's undetermined fate.

Iron Man's boots clattered off the tiles and crunched on broken shards of glass as he landed with a thud. He glanced around, trying to capture any information on his helmet's display but there was nothing to see: just the open, _empty_ cryotube, turned over so it exposed the vacant, hollowed out space left inside.

“Heat signatures.” Tony instructed again, eyes darting around and keeping his stance ready for the slightest sign of an oncoming attack. There was nothing moving any more, no sign of life to aid his search. Sometimes all the technology in the world could still be a let down, he cursed internally.

“He's been frozen, Boss. He won't have a – ”

“Then scan the area!”

He spent a few manic seconds with his heart in his throat and feeling like prey, hunted by an unseen, deadly predator.

“Systems are too damaged, Boss. I can't find him, or he's not in the immediate area -”

“We are _not_ letting him get away this time!” Tony growled, taking a step toward the exit before he hesitated and looked back over at the shattered window. T'Challa was out there somewhere, most likely wounded, and that was the best case scenario, but Tony couldn't just pass up his chance to catch the man he'd come up here for in the first place.

Both T'Challa and Barnes could be lost causes if he didn't move _now_ , and he had a feeling that the most dangerous of the two was the most likely option of success. So, trying to ignore the niggling of guilt amidst the betrayal and rage inside his chest, Tony turned away from the window and made his way through the lab toward the door he'd busted in upon his arrival.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


At the end of a haphazard trail of watery footsteps winding through the immense temple, Bucky half collapsed against the wall, pausing only long enough to catch his breath. His lungs were spiking with the effort of thawing, his vision still clouded and peppered with coloured blots. His body felt white hot and achy all over, heavier than any prosthetic had ever been, and the ice melting in rivulets all down his body was biting sharply into his skin.

His world was a mass of confusion and pain, though it hadn't taken a genius to realise that things clearly hadn't gone to plan when it came to waking him up; his first instinct had been to flee – Hydra had come for him? Something had gone wrong and The Winter Soldier was slowly breaking himself free from the icy confines of the tube? Or Tony Stark had finally caught up with him.

At first, Bucky had thought the mechanical whirs were just his mind replaying the awful sound of Iron Man's suit to him in the lonely nest of his slumber, but as it had become louder and his awareness clearer, it had quickly become apparent that his fears had in fact become a reality.

The throb of Bucky's flesh shoulder from bumping off walls and trying to stay upright was dull beneath the fiery attack of his blood warming again, and he drew in full, deep breaths in an attempt to regain control over the shallow heaving of his chest. He felt like his skin was shrinking and his veins were bubbling as they tried to keep up with the drastic change in his temperature. He felt off-balance, still unused to the absence of his left arm.

Slowly, finally, his body began to relax, slackening enough to allow air and blood to circulate properly through his still prickling organs. Then Bucky gasped as a new, _sharper_ pain made itself known near the join of metal and skin on his left. It felt wet, more so than from the melting ice, and as he gained the courage to look down, a pasty, ghostly image of his own face looked back at him from a large slice of glass protruding out from beneath his collar bone.

Blood had tainted and seeped into the clean white tank top he wore, standing out glaringly against the soft fabric. Bucky closed his eyes, too groggy and exhausted to worry about it properly, and continued to breathe carefully through his nose as he brought his numb fingers up to the shard.

Waking up from cryosleep had always been a terrifying, excruciating experience, but it gave him context for the pain when he slid the offending shard of glass free. Bucky kept his eyes closed as he trembled with hypothermia, clenching his jaw to keep from making much noise, and the tinkle of glass hitting the floor when it slipped from his fingers sounded so far away.

The worst wave of awakening was ebbing at least, and he clung on to the thought of Iron Man hunting him to find the strength to keep moving.

Pushing himself up off the wall with his one and only arm, Bucky squinted hazily over his shoulder in the direction he'd come. Stark would be on his trail, he had no doubts that the man had come here to finish what he'd started back in Siberia, but the evacuation alarm was swimming around much too loudly in his brain to hope to hear the man coming.

So, taking it as a good sign that the long expanse of hallway behind him was still empty, Bucky grunted as he clutched at his wound and forced one stinging leg in front of the other, continuing on his way to the closest exit he could find.

He tried not to wonder what had happened to his generous host, King T'Challa, and the entirety of the Wakandan staff that should have been bustling around the now eerily deserted building.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


The crack of dawn was blooming a beautiful rose and orange in the sky, like an artist had swept a paintbrush along the horizon and scrubbed in the shadow of the tree tops where the jungle stretched away into the distance.

Bucky revelled, exhausted, in the open air that gently played with the long, drying strands of his hair. When he looked back up at the temple behind him he could see the broken window to the lab he'd been sleeping in, while the others all reflected the waking sun.

Getting his bearings, Bucky headed off alongside the river that rushed parallel to the jungle below the lab, bare feet itching on the foliage and dirt beneath him. He was still too confused to make out the different sounds in his ears that harmonized as one thundering bellow – he remembered how loud the wildlife had been before he'd gone back under cryo – and it was only when he was almost upon the jungle and a physical vibration shivered over his skin that Bucky realised too late what was coming up behind him.

“Barnes!”

He could hear _that_ , and the accusation in the call ground his traitorous limbs to a halt.

Tony Stark flew over his head, projecting a wave of heat from Iron Man's boots that contrasted uncomfortably with the cold lingering in Bucky's soggy clothes and the natural haze building under the growing African sun.

And suddenly, everything settled into place; his back straightened, his breathing steadied and more of the fog in his brain cleared. When he locked eyes with the scratched Iron mask, instinct took over, and it told him to hold his ground, hide his fear.

It was surprisingly easy to hone in on the opponent before him, and it was a small relief to understand that it was the effects of cryo finally beginning to leave his system. Even the fiery ache under his collar bone was simple to ignore, though he knew the evidence of the wound was red and indisputable on his shirt when he moved his hand away.

Stark stopped between Bucky and the edge of the jungle, hovering a few feet off the air and balancing with practised ease. The face of the helmet bore down on him in its permanent scowl, and the suit, although still functioning, looked like it had seen better days. Bucky forced away the memory of the last time he'd seen it, of watching it attack his best friend as he himself lay helpless, incapacitated on the ground.

“Don't try to run. In the interest of everyone here I'd suggest coming along quietly.” Stark, at least, didn't sound as god-awfully murderous as he had during their last encounter.

“W-what year is it?” Bucky croaked, struggling to make use of his vocal cords. His throat burned in protest and he had to raise his voice to make it carry over the sounds around them. He didn't want to linger on the plausible reasons that he'd woken up alone instead of surrounded by the Wakandan staff as planned.

Stark huffed in what sounded like amusement, a mocking gesture all its own. He thought for a minute, probably deciding how to break the news in the most devastating way. “It's 2047.” The man stated, much too simply.

Bucky felt his eyes widen and his heart constrict even more painfully than when the ice had held it – _he'd slept for so long?!_ Why had nobody woken him? What had happened to the plan T'Challa had laid out for him before he went back into the ice? Most importantly, what had happened to prevent _Steve_ coming back to get him...?!

His devastation must have shown on his face, as before he had a chance to really delve into his panic, Stark cleared his throat. “Re-lax. You must've been in there for about two years.” Iron Man admitted and landed a metre or two away, swaggering lazily forward as the helmet slid open to reveal Tony Stark.

He looked practically identical to when Bucky had last seen him, and only now did he realise the man had been playing a cruel joke on him. He breathed out in bitter relief, letting himself believe it now.

“At least that's how long I've been looking for you. Apparently you've been up here the whole time. That's _annoying_...” Stark ground out, and Bucky backed up when the man advanced, ensuring to keep a good distance between them. The other man caught on and stopped walking, his mouth twitching in an irritated tick as he clearly fought to restrain himself and keep up his faltering happy-go-lucky demeanour.

Now that he could see his face, it was easy to notice the holes in the mask Stark was trying to keep up. Bucky made sure to focus on poising to run, as he was more disarmed and vulnerable than he'd been in seventy years: with not one scrap of armour or any form of weapon on him, he didn't stand a chance against Iron Man and his advanced weaponry.

Not that he wanted to fight him in the first place.

“Where's Steve?” Bucky fought to keep his voice and his facial expression steady. He wasn't sure he was succeeding, still reeling in the aftermath of thinking he'd lost another 30 years to the ice. And even if he had only been under for two years, it still didn't answer his questions. Where _was_ everyone?

“Uh – you don't get to ask the questions. That's _my_ right.” Stark's eyes flashed dangerously. “Although you _did_ just steal my first question – so I guess that means he's not _here_...”

If Stark hadn't wrongfully dragged Bucky's best friend into his fight he would have felt sorry for the man; he wasn't the first person the Winter Soldier had ripped loved ones from, and he wasn't the first person who had every right to hate his guts for it. But implicating Steve for Bucky's crime was not something he could put up with.

Bucky scowled deeply at the man, fingers shaking as they tingled with defensiveness and the sensation of returning to a human temperature. He awkwardly curled his hand into a half-closed fist, the best he could manage in his current state of recovery.

Just then, he noticed a movement out the corner of his eye beneath the canopy of leaves behind Stark's back. Something was on the ground, shuffling slowly closer out of the dense shadow between the trees. When a glint of sunlight shimmered over him, the shape revealed itself to Bucky's eyes as King T'Challa, who was badly injured, judging by the way he was crawling across the ground on all fours.

Bucky clenched his jaw to stop himself showing the horror he felt on his face, and it was only due to over half a century of training that he managed to stop himself from making any movement that would give away the man's position to Stark, even as his blood boiled in hatred.

He had no doubts who had dealt the wounding blow on the Wakandan King.

“And I see you're currently – _unarmed –_ so let's just save ourselves a whole lot of trouble and do this the easy way. Or am I gonna have to fight you again?” Stark interrupted Bucky's thoughts, continuing as though nothing had changed. That was a good sign, Bucky thought, and he made himself ignore T'Challa's struggling and turn his full attention back to the Iron Man to avoid raising any suspicion.

The King was silent as he crawled ever closer over the rushing of the river. Bucky didn't tear his eyes away from Stark's face. He didn't know what to say to the man, because the truth was that he _had_ killed his parents, cruel and heartless as the Winter Soldier had ever been made to be, and there was no avoiding that. Bucky's hands had dealt the final blow and left a young boy orphaned, and no matter what he said that would never change.

It was the unnecessarily dragging other people into their quarrel that unsettled him: the Wakandans hadn't needed to suffer over Stark's pain or Bucky's dark past, and this man had deliberately made things messy on his way to find closure. King T'Challa had been wounded in his quest to protect and hide Bucky away from the world, and now he needed to get the man somewhere he would be safe, hidden, and would have the chance to recover from his injuries. Somewhere Stark wouldn't find him again and punish him further for helping the Winter Soldier.

He still didn't say a word aloud, just breathed to quell his still painful lungs and glowered at Tony Stark, awaiting what would come next.

“I'm not getting a clear answer here – is that the 'easy way', or the 'I take you down and fly your ass all the way back to the States' way?” Stark quipped, still completely unaware of the Black Panther approaching at his back.

Now that he was close enough, Bucky could make out in his peripheral vision the awkward angle of T'Challa's right leg and shoulder, protruding painfully against the firm casing of his armour. His silver nails were drawn and digging into the soil to help drag the man's wounded body closer, as silent as the grave.

“Alright, you asked for it –”

Bucky almost flinched as Stark aimed one of those vicious hand blasters upon him, the long, high pitched beep indicating that he was charging an energy bolt. But before he could release his wrath, T'Challa struck out in a flash of silver talons and gripped Iron Man's armoured leg, distracting him when a shrill screech and sparks began to burst out from between the plates.

The moment Stark looked down upon the source of the damage, Bucky lunged – he used his metal stump of a shoulder to knock the man back and off balance, then ducked down to grab T'Challa under the arm and haul him up to his feet. Bucky lost track of Stark as the King led them toward the river, despite the awful strain on his broken bones and the growls of pain he was making deep in his chest as he clung to Bucky's shoulder.

They ran together then jumped, just as the grass beneath their feet erupted under one of Stark's energy bolts. Bucky felt the singeing heat wooshing at his back just before he crashed into the river, becoming engulfed by a shock of cold all over again after the warmth of the rising sun. His breath burned in his chest and he used his one remaining hand to cling tightly to T'Challa as his only anchor.

They were carried along in the thundering current, trapped underneath for long, tense seconds of nothing but the mumble of water rushing in their ears, until the river finally carried them back to the surface and the angry, persistent energy blasts from Iron Man.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


Tony shot at Barnes again, too frantic to consider the consequences of if he hit T'Challa in his attempts to hinder the murderer. They were moving too quickly so Tony flew high ahead of them, first cursing T'Challa's last ditch attempt at stopping him and then cursing the fact that the man had struck gold: his suit was struggling, wobbling worryingly in the air with sparks bursting from his left boot. He didn't expect it to hold out for much longer.

Tony only tore his gaze off his target to glance behind him once the roaring crescendo of water became deafening, and his eyes widened at the sight of a sharp drop of a waterfall tapering away below him into a cloudy mist and a long, perilous drop.

“That's never good.” Tony thought out loud, then wheeled around to pinpoint the two dark shapes rapidly speeding toward the edge. His eyes grew even wider. “Oh _come on_!” He whined darkly, abandoning his attempts to stop the fugitives with his blasters and instead diving through the air to grab them himself.

He sped down toward the river, accelerating madly, before his left boot sparked and spluttered then cut out completely. Suddenly, Tony was tipped into an ungraceful nose dive that took him off course of the river.

“No! No no no no!” He only just managed to catch himself before he hit the ground, balanced on his remaining functioning limbs, and looked around desperately as his targets whooshed past his position in the stream of the river. “NO!”

Real fear leaked into his voice as he watched Barnes and T'Challa get carried right up to the waterfall and finally pitch over the edge, lost in the churning spray of water. Tony stared after them for a moment before he retracted his damaged armour and scrambled to his feet, now dressed simply in his t-shirt and jeans, and ran to the cliff edge to peer over the side. He dropped to his hands and knees, leaning over as far as he safely could.

The dark mist concealed the worst of the drop but Tony's chest still ached hollowly with the thump of his heart, every beat pounding the truth into him. He'd not only desecrated a Wakandan temple and had nothing to show for it, but he was now responsible for losing both the Wakandan King and the Winter Soldier. Things didn't look promising from here on out.

And then... far below him and barely visible through the thick mist, he saw two human figures drifting along at the base of the waterfall. Both were moving, trying to swim against the current, and both were very much _not_ dead. Tony's relief was short lived once he realised that without his suit there was no way for him to follow the men wherever the river led, and he could do nothing but watch as the two fugitives escaped behind the canopy of the forest that soon concealed them from view.

Tony climbed back from the edge and scrubbed his hands over his face, bristling his beard and hair in the process. “God dammit!” He yelled to the jungle, where a flock of birds took flight in shock from his voice.

Tony's stomach twisted with dread and rage at how his visit had turned out and what inevitably awaited him now, then he sighed in defeat and looked out over the view of the Wakandan jungle to where a huge black statue of a Panther rested in the distance.

It was snarling at him menacingly, like it knew what he'd just done.

  
  


 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for taking so long to update, I've been kept really busy with uni work and what little free time I've had has gone into the Captain America Reverse Big Bang for this year x) Hopefully it won't take so long for the next chapter – I'm planning on getting it posted before Infinity War comes out, but I guess we'll see if I can make it :P

 

The roar of the jungle eclipsed the thundering current as Bucky and T'Challa were carried swiftly downstream, finally slowing at the bottom of the mountain. Under the weight of the Wakandan King and without his metal arm to take most of the stress, Bucky struggled to swim them to shore and keep both their heads above water.

When his feet finally hit the river bed he managed to haul T'Challa back onto land as water poured off them both, Bucky's bare feet sinking into the mud and making the task all the more difficult. The King was huffing as he tried to hold in his grunts of pain, and Bucky burned inside at the knowledge that he had managed to drag his Wakandan protectors into this deadly game of revenge along with him.

He should have known better than to let them help, and he hated himself for allowing them to endanger their safety for him in the first place.

He looked down to see the King half unconscious against his side, clutching onto his waist with the Panther's piercing claws to keep himself semi-upright. The trail of mud leaking into the river behind the man was stained with red, and he kept his weight mostly on Bucky and off his right side as much as he could. One leg dragged behind the other and the ribs on his right side were apparently too tender to put any pressure on. Bucky stopped himself thinking too much about it and continued pulling the man onto land.

He was still unsteady without the weight of his left arm and tried to accommodate both his and T'Challa's bodies with his still foreign, lopsided stance, hitching him up a little higher and being careful to keep his grip away from T'Challa's ribs. Gritting his teeth against the tendrils of long hair stuck to his face and the sharp pull on his flesh shoulder, he continued on their pilgrimage up the riverbank until they found a steady place to stop and rest.

Finally, Bucky laid T'Challa down against the ground, concerned by the man's ragged breaths over the steady trickling of the now gentle stream behind them. Once he assessed they weren't about to be pounced on by any large animals prowling in the treeline, he reached out and pried the Black Panther's mask off the King's face for him, Bucky's eyebrows turning up in the middle at the sight of splatters of red revealed on the man's skin underneath.

“I am sorry, James.” T'Challa's soft, distant voice sounded weaker than he'd ever heard it, but those deep, mysterious eyes looked up at him clearly even from behind half swollen lids. Bucky swallowed the lump in his throat in an attempt to keep the crushing feeling of guilt from his expression.

He pulled his brows defiantly into a tight line and turned to search back up the river in the direction they'd come from, unable to look at the damage he had caused. “What happened?” He croaked, his voice sore and gravelly.

“A member of my staff... betrayed us to the Accords.” T'Challa sighed. Even in pain he still had that calm, comforting tone about him. Bucky cast a quick glance back at those eyes fixed on him before he had to turn away again, resisting the instinct to squirm uncomfortably.

He knew by that look that the King didn't blame him for what had just happened, yet somehow that made the burden heavier in Bucky's chest.

Staring up at the distant peak of the waterfall from their current position, he thought back to Tony Stark. So, it turned out that one of T'Challa's staff had turned them all in as traitors and Stark had taken it upon himself to exert that same lethal force as he'd used back in Russia, even on the King of Wakanda, all because of Bucky. He suppressed a shiver at the memory of Siberia, still too raw to dwell on for long.

Two years ago, Stark had said. It still seemed like mere days to Bucky.

At least the man was still unaware of Steve's location, he reasoned with himself, and allowed the thought to instil some sense into his buzzing brain. Stark would go back to his people after his failed mission here today, and by the time they'd debriefed and re-grouped he'd have lost his targets. T'Challa and Bucky, it seemed, had managed to just barely escape his clutches this time.

Already the hot African sun was stemming the droplets dripping from his hair onto his shoulders and soaking up the water clogging his clothes. Bucky found that the extreme heat was easing the harsh transition of waking from cryo and warming up his bones, evaporating the last dregs of his headache and helping him to feel steadily better. Suddenly, the song of the Wakandan jungle appeared beautiful and soothing instead of so raucous, and it helped fill him up with a sense of purpose.

“Is there a way outta here?” Bucky asked, giving the surrounding trees another, more scrutinizing search. He could see the plausible paths through the immense foliage, but knew if he set foot in there without a guide he would immediately lose his way.

“Back up the mountain, there is a hidden hangar bay. I have people waiting for us there.” T'Challa grunted as he attempted to pull himself into a sitting position. Bucky helped him stand, holding the King up again with an arm around his back while the sleeve of the Panther's suit stuck uncomfortably to the long hair down the back of Bucky's neck.

T'Challa cried out in pain at the movement, but allowed it nonetheless. “Can they help you?” Bucky asked, concern in his voice and on his features as he studied the man's bruised face.

T'Challa met his eyes, still soft behind the flickerings of pain and betrayal.

“They can help _us._ ”

They started to move, slow and steady into the jungle. Bucky tried not to think back to when he'd been the one tapering on the brink of consciousness like this, relying on a friend to take care of him. It hurt to think of Steve right now, to remember the look on his face as he'd tried to be brave while Bucky had gone back into cryosleep. He'd remedied it at the time by telling himself the next time he opened his eyes Steve would be there, proud and tall and waiting for him.

But his eyes were open, and Steve wasn't here. That was a good thing, he supposed, as it meant he was keeping himself safe if Stark still had no idea where he was.

Still, Bucky only hoped he could give some sort of similar comfort to the Wakandan King as they began their trek back up the mountain, following his quiet instructions through the maze of the African jungle.

  


~ ~ ~ ~

  


Vision blinked slowly at the man in front of him, watching as Tony deliberately ignored his gaze in favour of burying his head inside the hollow chamber of his Iron Man suit. The sound of a drill and a few bursts of sparks followed shortly.

To Vision's right under the bright lights of the workshop, Colonel Rhodes sat in an office chair and had his palms carefully splayed flat on the surface of the desk in a conscious effort to contain himself. The expression on his face was telling enough of his disbelief and disapproval, without him needing to utter a word.

The elephant in the room only grew larger when Tony continued to make loud, echoing, mechanical sounds inside his suit, as if doing so would make his two visitors disappear. Finally, when it became apparent he would carry on this way until stopped, Vision cleared his throat.

“I think we need to discuss this sooner rather than later.” He had to raise his voice to be heard over the noise. Tony didn't even pause in his repairs.

“I really don't think we do.” His muffled reply bounced back. Vision detected denial, false confidence and anger in those few words alone. He resisted the urge to sigh. “What's done is done and all that –”

“Shut up, Tony!” Rhodes snapped suddenly, and the whirring of tools slowed for a short moment before they resumed again. “You were either damn _stupid_ or damn _lucky_ today! I don't think you seem to understand the implications of breaking into a Wakandan temple and attacking the _King_!”

“Okay: that is _not_ how it went.” Finally, the billionaire stepped back from his damaged suit and rounded on Vision and Rhodes. His face was lined with his bruised ego though he brandished the tool in his hand almost carelessly as he spoke. “I went in there for Barnes, not His Royal Highness. And he attacked _me_ first, what was I supposed to do?”

Almost in conclusion, Tony picked up and tossed his iron helmet onto the desk in front of Rhodes with a clunk. The golden mask bore cruel, deep claw marks scratched into its surface. Vision was in no mood for games, already discouraged by the man's utter immaturity and disregard for the etiquette the Sokovia Accords required, and turned away from the damaged helmet to focus on the more important matter at hand.

“And you chose not to inform us of this new information on Sergeant Barnes and head in there alone, because...?” He opened his palm in question, awaiting the answer he knew would be unsatisfactory even before it left Tony's lips.

“I had to check it out, see if it was a credible source before dragging you lot all the way out there. And when I got inside, things didn't exactly go to plan –”

“You left for Wakanda to hold a meeting with their King _about_ the Sokovia Accords... which are in place solely to establish _peace_... and you return having released a dangerous fugitive into the population and tossed said King over a waterfall...?” Vision spelled it out as clearly as he would to a child, hoping Tony would be able to keep up with the seriousness of what he had done.

But the man didn't seem to be affected at all; he just turned back to his suit to continue his repairs, this time almost fully disappearing inside it before the drill and sparks started up again. “Firstly – he jumped over that waterfall himself, and secondly – His Majesty was harbouring a wanted criminal _against_ the Accords that his own father created, or rather, _died_ to create! It was my duty in _favour_ of these regulations to act upon the information I was given.”

Tony obviously believed in his words, yet Vision was well aware of the billionaire's unapologetic attitude toward rules of any kind. And the fact that he saw no problem in changing those rules around to suit himself whenever he deemed it necessary. For one: betraying the generous hospitality of a foreign leader just because he'd received a promising tip-off about the Winter Soldier...

“And you found a man who turned against his king and country to be a viable source?” Vision almost raised an eyebrow.

“He's Wakandan, they're as honourable as it gets.” Tony retorted, losing the last of his casual arrogance. True, that fact had been proven to almost inherently be correct, as usually there was never a person with a fiercer loyalty to their cause in the world than those of Wakanda. That is, discounting Captain Rogers, of course.

“Yet he saw it fit to break his code of honour to his King.” Vision noted that Rhodes hadn't contributed again, but his solemn nod upon this observation told him what he already knew – that the Colonel was still on his side.

This only seemed to press Tony further, and the man re-emerged into the workshop practically bristling in frustration. He was now evidentially in a rather foul mood, although it appeared to be one borne of his unabashed certainty that he'd done nothing wrong and everyone else was yet to see it.

“He was _protecting_ his country the way his King wouldn't! He was just trying to do the right thing! Aren't we all?” Tony chucked his tools aside where they clattered messily amongst the others, scattering loose bolts and screws across the floor.

He wiped at his brow with the back of his arm, and for the first time since Tony had returned from Wakanda, Vision found himself believing that the man wasn't just defending his vengeful hunt for revenge against Sergeant Barnes. Instead, the deep compassion that had led Tony to sign the Sokovia Accords in the first place was visible in him now, clearly still thriving beneath the surface and fuelling the man's decisions and moral compass.

Vision remained stoic and silent, waiting until Tony had calmed himself down and started prying apart the red plates on the damaged boot of his suit to get into the inner workings. This time when he spoke he sounded more serious and mournful than he had all evening.

“Don't you dare try to condemn that man for doing the right thing.” He continued, no longer angry. Instead, this time he was the one who appeared to feel let down. “So: yeah, maybe I should have called it in before acting on impulse. And maybe I _was_ a little too aggressive with T'Challa when I was trying to stop him from clawing me apart... but at least I did something instead of just sitting around here, on my ass, waiting for the Avengers to fix themselves again.”

He tugged free the largest metal plate, then began tending to the cables inside like the expert he really was. Usually, working helped to soothe the man and iron out the kinks in his defensiveness, but this time Vision could clearly see the sadness and the hurt over the last two years rising to the surface instead. He glanced at Colonel Rhodes, who's disapproving expression was also softening now.

“Tony,” Rhodes started, using his grip on the table to help pull himself onto his feet. The slow click of his leg braces as he made his way across the room drew Tony's attention, and he quickly stood up and met the Colonel half way to save him exerting too much energy. Neither of them acknowledged the gesture, and Tony silently allowed his friend to lean on him. “We all regret what happened with Steve and Wanda and Clint... but running around like a petulant teenager to get back at those responsible isn't the way to fix it. We three are all that's left of the Avengers, and we have to be better than terrorism and murder. What you did in Wakanda yesterday _was not the way._ Whether Barnes was there or not. You gotta understand that.”

Rhodes stared hard at Tony, still not approving of his actions but the tone of his voice was much softer than before. He was angry, but he _understood_ , even if Vision himself couldn't quite sidetrack attempting to kill the King of Wakanda, just because Tony was his friend. He didn't think Rhodes could either, but he was a kinder man who knew Tony better than anyone, so Vision allowed himself to step back and not interrupt.

Miraculously, the Colonel seemed to have worked his magic on the billionaire; he shed his defiant air and instead resorted to that ever-present confidence and mask of humour for every situation. “And you wonder why I never brought you along? You sound like my therapist, sucking all the fun out of everything...” Something about Tony's reaction made Vision believe there was some regret there for yesterday, and he shared a look of somewhat relief with Rhodes.

“I'm serious. An' maybe you should start payin' me an hourly rate, for all the times I've had to sit and listen to your problems...” The corner of Rhodes' mouth twitched, despite the hard line of his brows.

“Not a bad idea. Maybe then you'd actually be _helpful_ in those situations...”

Looking between the two friends, Vision could see the conversation was beginning to go off track. He took a step closer to intervene before they could get too carried away. “This is all very well, but what are we going to do about King T'Challa?” The question hung heavy in the air for a moment before Tony cleared his throat.

“I have contacts. They can square this whole thing up –”

“You can't just throw money at this to make it disappear. This is a matter of terrorism.” Vision raised his voice slightly, the sharpening of his tone conveying the seriousness of his words.

Tony balked as though he'd been slapped across the face. Vision resisted the urge to sigh and rest his forehead in his hand.

“Because I was trying to _stop_ a terrorist?”

“You threw the King of Wakanda out the window of his own temple. I don't think it needs much more explanation than that.”

“Okay – that was an accident.”

Colonel Rhodes did indeed sigh and rest his forehead in his hand. He also mumbled something incoherent under his breath for good measure.

“So far nothing has got to the press, but I don't suppose it will be long, now. We must act on this quickly before things get even more out of hand –” Vision was interrupted when the door to the lab slid open and revealed a tall Wakandan man dressed all in black.

“Abdalla, the man of the hour! Perfect timing.” Tony exclaimed, opening his arms in welcome and beckoning the new arrival toward him.

Just his silhouette was grand, with broad shoulders and perfect posture, but when he entered the lab he had a level of hesitance around him that informed Vision the man wasn't entirely comfortable being there.

“This can all wait, right? When we have much more important things to deal with right now?” Tony stated to Vision, ignoring his and the Colonel's frustrated looks as he clapped a hand down on the Wakandan man's shoulder as if showing off his eldest son. “While I was trying not to get clawed to death, Abdalla here was doing us another favour. This is it?” He double checked quietly with Abdalla, nodding toward the paper file in the Wakandan's hand.

“Yes. The only copy.” But when Tony reached to take the file, Abdalla held on to it tightly, meeting the billionaire's eyes. “My King... did you hurt him?” His voice was deep but soft and carried with it an audible level of concern. Vision glanced between him and Tony, waiting for the moment the Wakandan would take back this mysterious file and call off all bets, judging by the look of sincerity on his face.

But...

“No. 'Course not.” Tony lied blatantly, and took the file before pulling a 'whoops' face at Rhodes when Abdalla couldn't see. He made a dismissive hand gesture that signalled Vision and the Colonel to keep quiet, and it was only out of curiosity over the file he was carrying that Vision did so. Rhodes walked carefully back to his chair, his lips pressed together disapprovingly, but he too said nothing.

Abdalla looked somewhat comforted by Tony's shameful lie, and if Vision could experience true human emotion he thought it would be sympathy for the man. Tony, on the other hand, expertly kept any conflicting emotions to himself. If he was even experiencing them at all. He had a glint in his eye that drew Vision's attention, something that hadn't been there just a few moments ago...

“Look, we have to focus on the positives of this: maybe Barnes got away, but I still woke the beast. And what do you do to hunt a beast?” Tony appeared to be revitalised with a sudden bout of enthusiasm, and when neither man answered or even looked remotely amused, he continued seamlessly. “You set a trap! We _bring_ him _to_ us.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” Rhodes held a note of reservation about him. “We don't even know if... _Barnes_ survived the fall.” It appeared that he was holding his tongue on account of Abdalla.

“Oh he survived, trust me...” The billionaire said with a grim smile. Rhodes' eyes flicked to the Wakandan briefly before returning to glare daggers at Tony.

“...If you need anything else, Mr Stark, I will be in my new quarters.” Abdalla dismissed himself, evidentially realising he shouldn't really be part of this conversation. Vision admired that. Tony patted the man on the shoulder once more in farewell.

“How's the 90 inch flat screen holding up for you, eh?” He joked as he began to cross the workshop again, heading back over to the desk and sending a parting smile to the Wakandan as he turned to exited the lab.

“Not as nice as the ones back home, but I will make do.” Abdalla replied, and then he disappeared through the door that slid snugly closed behind him.

“Ha! I love that guy...!” Tony jabbed a thumb to where he'd just left, evidentially under the impression that the distraction of Abdalla would get him out of the trouble he'd caused in the first place. Vision crossed his arms over his chest at the same time Rhodes did beside him.

They stared at Tony, unwavering.

“Look, I know what you're thinking, but in two seconds I'm gonna be your best friend again.” He said eagerly, slapping the file down on the desk and preening over it like it was made of pure vibranium. In reality, the paper looked fairly new but well used, the outside corners curling where they'd frequently been touched. It was utterly unremarkable.

“By miraculously setting a trap for the most dangerous assassin on the planet.” Vision said dryly, more thinking out loud than engaging in conversation.

“Uh – actually it's not so difficult. We just have to let him know that we have something he wants – some _one_ he wants – and he'll come right to us. Kill two birds with one stone, as they say...” Tony was grinning, looking as though he had a winning hand at poker and he knew he was about to win the game... “ _That_ ,” He pointed to the file. “...Just so happens to be the current whereabouts of one Steven G. Rogers.”

Suddenly, the bristling air in the room sparked and seemed to light up between the three men. Vision, for the first time that he could recall, momentarily found himself speechless.The current whereabouts of war criminal and vigilante Steve Rogers? The man who had completely dropped off the map without a trace? The man that they, that the CIA, had been hunting unsuccessfully for two years?

“Damn...” Rhodes breathed out, straining his neck to look down at the front cover of the seemingly inconspicuous file. Vision thought he couldn't have put it any better himself. “So what does it say?”

“I dunno yet. Believe it or not, reading Wakandan is not one of my many talents.” Tony lifted his eyes from the file, looking meaningfully across the table at Vision. “But, thankfully, one of us is graced in the art.”

He slid the Rogers file over so it was in front of Vision, who caught it before it could slip off the desk. Vision looked up and between Tony and Rhodes, contemplating their eager faces and what answers could possibly lie in the pages beneath his fingertips. It almost seemed too easy.

“Come on, Vis.” Tony said softly, his face falling into a more serious expression now the moment was upon them. “Let's find out where the son of a bitch has been hiding.”

There was a slight hesitation in Vision's hand as he reached out toward the corner of the folder, but then he opened the front cover to pages crammed with a beautiful Wakandan scrawl. Rhodes and Tony leaned in beside him, even if they couldn't make sense of the words like he could, and the lab settled into a steady, still silence around them. Vision kept reading until he reached the section he wanted.

“Ah. I'm afraid we've been searching in all the wrong places. This is a paper trail, documenting every time Captain Rogers has checked in with His Majesty to update his location around the globe.” Vision read further. “It seems he was keeping them up to date on his whereabouts in the event that he would need to be contacted if anything were to happen to Sergeant Barnes while in cryostasis. He's very specific about that – ”

“Vis – cut to the chase. We don't need all the lovey-dovey details.” Tony interrupted, rather rudely. He clearly had no patience for the care needed to decipher a foreign language.

“Very well.” He scanned the rest of the pages, skimming over the place names until he came to the most recent. Vision took his time to drink in every scrap of useful information he could find.

“Vis?” Rhodes chipped in, breaking his train of thought. He looked up from the page, meeting their eagerly awaiting expressions, and cleared his throat carefully.

“You're going to need your suit...” Vision said to Tony, sending a long, sweeping glance between him and the Colonel as they watched him raptly, waiting for the answers they'd been searching for all along. “He's in China.”

  


~ ~ ~ ~

  


Down a long, vacant corridor in the maze of Avengers Tower, Tony expertly tapped out a combination on a holographic keypad, adjusting his collar impatiently in the second it took for the door to slide open and allow him access to the room inside.

He waited for the lights to flicker to life along the walls and illuminate the small storage facility before stepping over the threshold, where the door sealed behind him. There were stacks of boxes lying around and metal shelves packed with tools and trinkets, and on the far wall a shiny, high security safe embedded into the wall. Tony headed toward it, still fidgeting a little even as he did his best to shake this somewhat nervous tick. No, not nervous – _pissed off_. He cast his eyes around the room as he crossed it, stretching out his shoulders and rubbing the heel of his hand over his chest as if it would smooth out the knots in there, too.

He thought the flight to China would do him some good, honestly. He could use the exercise.

He slowed and finally stopped in front of the safe, looking slowly over all the piles of _stuff_ littering the room like unwanted junk in someone's attic. He sighed, rubbing at an ache behind his eyebrow now when his gaze drifted over on old prototype for one of his Iron Man suits, Wanda's old guitar, one of Barton's training bows, Wilson's stockpile of genuine vintage records... Junk. All junk.

Tony tapped once at the smooth metal of the safe, then typed in another combination on another holographic keypad.

“Identification required.” Friday's voice stated. Tony just sighed again, more tiredly this time.

“Nick Fury.” He said, deadpan. “C'mon, Friday, nobody else ever comes in here...”

“Just following protocol, Boss.”

“Yeah, at least _you're_ good at that...” Tony mumbled, giving up on his headache and straightening up as he faced the safe properly. “Iron Man.” He recited duly.

“Access granted.”

There was a _whoosh_ as the lining around the safe cracked open, then the whole front panel was retracted up into the wall and revealed a gleaming, perfectly balanced vibranium disc. Red, white and blue, with several scratches cutting harshly through the paint. Tony's headache kicked up a notch.

He stared at it for a few moments before he plucked it out of the safe, spinning the deceivingly light shield in his fingers as thoughts of Siberia, of Rogers, of his _father_ span around in his brain. Tony frowned down at the metal, before carelessly discarding it somewhere on the floor with a loud, metallic _clang!_ that seemed to ring on for entirely too long.

The safe was now empty, and Tony reached into the large space until he pressed his thumb to a cleverly concealed pad against the back panel. There was another _whoosh_ and a crack, and he pulled his arm back before the inside of the safe reconfigured with a smooth melody of whirs. Finally, it stopped when a small stand had been brought forward from the hidden section at the back and settled right in front of him within easy reach.

Tony found that his frown twisted from one of betrayal to determination as he looked at what was cradled carefully on the stand: the metal plates reflected back the gleam of the lights, from the gentle curves of the fingertips toward the middle of the bulging bicep, and finally the knot of cables and wires that still protruded messily from the end.

He narrowed his eyes, remembering what he was doing down here in the first place.

“I'm comin' for you.” Tony vowed, dark and sincere as he glared at the magnificent, severed, metal arm.

  


~ ~ ~ ~

  


A babble of noise carried along through the Wakandan market, colourful stalls drawing the attention of passers by as they ducked and weaved through the busy streets. Bucky kept his head down, hoping to conceal his appearance under the hood he wore and allowed himself to be invisible to onlookers. It was still warm even at sunset, but he was grateful for the casual clothes he'd been given to help him disappear.

He peeked at the pedestrians as he passed, oblivious and too distracted in their own lives to pay him any attention, and he found solace in the thrum of the market playing all around him. It felt like years since he'd managed to simply amble around and lose himself, and walking off his trepidations in the aroma of a bustling city was still comforting to him, even though Wakanda had a distinctively different buzz to it than anywhere he'd ever been before. Still, it was helping to ease his growing sense of dread at the lingering thought of Tony Stark.

Bucky breathed in the dusty, musky air and revelled in being out and about, just one tiny, inconspicuous speck amongst millions of others. He walked on even after the sun set, fuschia against the sky that finally turned into an inky backdrop for Wakanda, and found himself traversing from the markets into the more modern parts of the city. It was like entering a different world, this one more similar to home. Here, neon lights glowed on buildings, fewer people were in the streets, and Bucky kept contentedly to himself, enjoying the way he felt lighter than he had in years by just being out here alone to appreciate the night.

The space helped him escape from his own mind. It was nice. He'd needed that.

Multiple pairs of stilettoed feet clip clopped past his line of sight, belonging to a group of stunning African woman with their hair cropped close or loose in huge tresses, their arms linked together. It was their haste to reach a place ahead, where a crowd was gathering and spilling out into the street, that encouraged Bucky to take a peek at where growing sounds of a commotion were coming from.

The stilettoed women joined the cluster in what turned out to be an unassuming bar just like the many others Bucky had already passed coming this way. So, curious, he hesitantly decided to blend in at the back of the crowd and peered over heads to see what was causing such a ruckus.

Inside, the bar was swarming with people all focused on a wall mounted TV opposite the door. It was much too loud to hear what was being reported, but as he squinted over the bustling heads Bucky managed to translate the Wakandan scroll along the bottom of the screen.

He felt his entire body turn cold.

_Infamous fugitive Steve Rogers a.k.a Captain America apprehended in Hong Kong. Iron Man and his Avengers to take him into CIA custody._

The running text kept repeating as Bucky swallowed hard and tried to chase the shake from his fingers, the deafening chatter all around him turning into white noise. Even the text blurred and stopped making sense as it looped over and over before his eyes, and all of the calm he'd accumulated on his walk through the city evaporated like popping a balloon. Bucky made himself breathe, long and steady breaths so not to draw unwanted attention to himself.

He should have known things would only get messier before they got better, he'd just hoped dearly that it wouldn't come to this. Before he let himself panic, he pushed slightly further into the crowd and strained his ears to hear what the reporter on screen had to say.

“ _...under the supervision of The Avengers. Steve Rogers will remain in custody in Hong Kong until transferred back to the United States at a later date for trial...”_

It couldn't be real. Bucky didn't let himself react, didn't let himself _believe_ it. The people around him were smiling and cheerful, talking loudly to each other in a jumble of excited voices as though a huge weight had been lifted off of their shoulders, and Bucky glanced around them with a bubbling anger and sizzling guilt sitting heavy in his gut.

This was all his fault. Vienna, what happened in Germany, turning Captain America into a hated criminal... if there had been no such thing as the Winter Soldier, none of this would have happened. He clenched his jaw, checking furtively to see if anyone had noticed him while suffocating under the weight of his past: His head felt burning hot, as though all eyes in the city were glowering at him with the intensity of the sun. In reality, they were all so oblivious to the assassin lurking in their midst, brushing against their shoulders and blocking their view along with everyone else.

Nobody recognised him, nobody was even _looking_ at him. And so, with the news reporter's words imprinted into his brain, Bucky turned and manoeuvred his way out of the imposing prison of bodies closing in all around, silent and as stealthy as a ghost.

  


~ ~ ~ ~

  


“We are ready for you now.”

A middle aged nurse with long dreadlocks and a proud stance approached Bucky when he was let into a secret, underground medical ward. The place was brightly lit and gleaming white, similar to the temple he'd been kept in previously. Bucky's eyes skimmed over a tall, narrow cryostasis unit visible in the next room through a wall of glass, and his stomach flipped with dread and nerves. They were certainly efficient in Wakanda, he thought, as he eyed the chamber intended for him upon his request.

When he turned to answer her, someone spoke over him before he could say a word.

“Are you sure I cannot change your mind, James? As we now know, I cannot ensure your safety in my care. It will be a risk.” King T'Challa's voice was rougher than usual, but the tenderness he always possessed still seemed to be intact.

He was sitting on the end of a plush looking bed, swathed in bandages and letting a flurry of nurses tend to him. When they fanned out, clearing a space for the two men to properly face each other, the cuts and bruises on the King's face contorted as it smoothed into the littlest of smiles. He was already in a much better condition than when Bucky had been allowed in to see him after having his own injuries tended to.

The bandage over Bucky's collarbone was still smarting slightly, though the cut itself had almost healed. He wondered if it was more just the memory of Tony Stark and not the physical wound at all that was hurting, but pushed that to the back of his mind as he offered a small, reassuring smile to the King. None of this was his fault.

“There is so much more to life than ice and sleep.” T'Challa told him sincerely, without a hint of judgement. He still appeared fatherly and strong, even after everything he'd just been subjected to over the man standing before him now; his personal guard, his temple, even his own body had suffered damage that could have been avoided if he'd just handed over the wanted criminal in his midst. And yet here he was, still willing to help. Bucky didn't know how to react to that realisation.

But how could he possibly go back into cryostasis and renounce all responsibility, knowing what he knew now? He could never allow himself to just sleep away the time needed to heal the chaos he'd caused, especially now that Steve had been thrown back into the mix. His stomach flared with nasty emotions that he tried and failed to stamp out.

“Where did you say Steve was...?” Bucky asked quietly, a futile attempt to deny the truth a little longer. He already knew the answer, but he needed to hear it again.

“In his latest report he was heading to Hong Kong. This was three days ago.” T'Challa repeated what he'd already told him, but what had previously been a source of relief knowing that Steve was okay now drove cold hard purpose through Bucky's veins.

He swallowed.

He'd spent so long trying to run from every confrontation, to bury himself in the sand and hope the world left him alone. Now, he didn't even have a team of Avengers at his back or his best friend by his side to share the load when conflict had become necessary. It was just him, alone. The thought was terrifying, but he new he couldn't just run and hide this time.

T'Challa must have seen his change of mind, as his face dipped to a knowing examination. “What has happened?” He asked in quiet concern. Deep in his secret safe house and with only a small handful of his most trusted staff bustling around busily to tend to him, it wasn't surprising he wasn't aware of the change in circumstance yet.

Bucky watched the man silently for a long moment, wondering how best to go about asking for what it was he wanted.

“I'm going to China.” He said at last, meeting T'Challa's expression with an unwavering conviction.

The implications of the statement slung heavily over Bucky's body like a snug fit of armour, tailored and sculpted specifically for his use. It ignited something in him that he'd long since buried, but now the promise of a hunt sent adrenaline pumping through his muscles and awoke his Soldier's instincts.

He was going to China, and he was not coming back without completing his mission.

T'Challa rose slowly to his feet, his warm eyes pouring wisdom and understanding into Bucky's own. Even bruised and battered, when the man stood he stood up tall and determined as though he hadn't suffered any injuries at all.

Finally, the King spoke.

“What do you need?”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I promise this isn't a Tony-centric fic, we're just getting the story started. Next chapter is kicking right back into the action and Bucky will be present throughout all of it x)
> 
> In the section with Tony, Vision and Rhodey, please forgive me if some of the politics is wrong as I'm working more on creative liberty than factual research. The same applies with what would actually happen to Steve being apprehended in a foreign country, so just go with it for me :P
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! x


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'll admit this chapter is pretty long but it's all action-packed Marvel goodness, and I hope you enjoy!

 

Traffic poured along the freeway, rushing along like the current of a river under the impressive, sunny skyline of Hong Kong. Three identical, heavy-duty trucks drove on with police escorts flanking and leading the convoy with their sirens blaring.

“Vis, what we got?” Tony itched to be out in the sky above, however he impatiently held his position in the back of an inconspicuous civilian camper van travelling nearby. He concentrated his attention on the inside display of his helmet, giving him a schematic of the living and breathing world right outside, and watched the image of a car on its morning commute that harmlessly drove past the three armoured trucks. Two parents and a child inside – no cause for alarm.

“Nothing here. If Sergeant Barnes is indeed heading our way he has not reached us yet.” Vision's perfectly calm voice answered into his ear from the next “civilian” car over. Tony absently wondered if the guy even _could_ feel nervous, or excited, or any of the confusing messy emotions currently jumbled around inside his own mind.

“Oh he's comin' alright. Like a moth to the flame...” Tony almost growled, feeling the promise of vengeance begin to stir inside him before he shook himself and put on his game face again. “Stay alert. Keep me posted.”

The party continued to drive along uninterrupted, so much so that Tony began to second guess himself. They were already almost arriving at the city and there had still been no sign of Barnes... but they had the bait, he reminded himself with an almost-smile.

“How's Rogers?” Tony almost scoffed.

“Silent as the grave.” Vision replied.

“Yeah, I'll bet...” Tony muttered to himself before a nearing grumble of engines caught his attention.

He turned around to watch his visor's display carefully as a rag tag group of motorcyclists revved their way up the freeway and easily surpassed the travelling convoy, speeding off ahead of them without a second glance. Tony peered after them, not quite satisfied as they grew smaller and smaller the further into the distance they went. Finally, when they had almost disappeared into the horizon, he decided to dismiss the bikes as another non-threat, but the moment he began to turn away to scan the other surrounding vehicles his adrenaline spiked –

“Hold it,” He said, zooming in to focus on one of the motorcyclists who peeled off from the back of the group.

Tony couldn't see the face behind a shiny black helmet, but his display informed him after a quick once over that the rider was sitting atop a state-of-the-art bike the likes of which he hadn't seen before. It wheeled around in a large arc, dodging the traffic expertly as it began heading back the way it'd come in the direction of the trucks. Tony ground his back teeth together in grim anticipation, his instincts telling him what he already knew.

“It's him – it's Barnes. Let's get moving.”

The moment Iron Man kicked open the doors to the camper van and took off into the sky, that anticipation blossomed into the thrill of the fight. Down on the road below, Barnes was speeding defiantly along in the face of oncoming traffic, travelling toward the path of the armoured trucks. The vehicles immediately rearranged themselves, slowing enough to allow the police escorts to cover them before they continued on in a single file formation.

It had almost been too easy, Tony mused, and he couldn't help but feel a little disappointed, if not relieved, that it would all be over so quickly. He looked around for his wingman, instead finding the surrounding sky empty.

“Vis, sorry to be a nuisance or anything but you better get your butt out here. _Now._ ” Tony chided. He circled wide, spinning gracefully through the air in order to arrange himself for his next move.

“I don't believe you've ever been sorry to be a nuisance.” Came Vision's response, before another form joined Iron Man in the sky, flying high above and scanning the area below like a hawk on the hunt. “And that rider wears a helmet; we cannot be sure it is, indeed, the Sergeant. It would be unwise to engage him before confirming his identity.”

Tony scoffed, having no time to put up with Vision's attitude right now. “You want me to kindly ask him to remove it before he attacks us? It's Barnes, Vis, you can cut the Accords crap -”

“It is not 'crap' to ensure that all we are doing is lawfully within our agreed rights. This is foreign soil, and we are now under strict rules that –” Vision argued, as calm as ever. Tony rolled his eyes dramatically.

“Right – I don't care – just deal with it. We need to get this show on the road.” He never took his sights off the figure weaving along the freeway between hooting cars.

After a moment's contemplation and with a swish of colours, Vision was speeding away into the distance and then he was atop Barnes. He opted for relieving the fugitive of his thick motorcycle helmet, phasing it right off his head, but the sight revealed underneath was not the one Tony had been expecting...

He gaped down at the rider, with the black panther's mask, milky eyes and pointed feline ears now revealed without the motorcycle helmet to conceal him. King T'Challa barely flinched at the arrival of Vision, just revved up his motorbike's engine and hurtled along the freeway at an even faster speed.

“It appears we have an unexpected arrival on our hands.” Vision stated, disappearing somewhere above them again.

Tony shook his head to snap out of his surprise. “Well, I told you I didn't kill him.” He zoomed in on the image of the motorbike, noting the determined set of T'Challa's shoulders as he continued to close the distance between himself and the blaring police cars. “I got him, you clear out some of this traffic.”

“Understood.”

And with that, Iron Man propelled himself through the sky and then down to earth in a beeline for the trajectory of T'Challa's bike. He only _just_ missed by the tips of his iron fingers when the King swerved the bike at the last second to avoid impact, the sound of the engine whizzing into Tony's ears, a deafening roar, before it was out of his reach. Then a fizzling _crack!_ followed.

But when he wheeled around to protect himself from whatever T'Challa had just unleashed upon him, Tony saw a fork of electricity lash out from a gun in the King's hand, directed toward the police car coming up first. When it hit, the car sparked once before the engine cut out and the siren dipped into a slow, bleeding whine before it, too, stopped entirely. The rest of the convoy swerved around it to continue up the freeway, their sirens still blazing as loudly as ever.

Tony pursed his lips, realising they were dealing with high-tech toys here which would need to be put out of action as quickly as possible. He targeted the weapon still in T'Challa's grip, flying along above the man as the charge of his hand blaster built up with a beep.

_CRACK!_

The Iron Man jerked violently, cutting off the blast before he could even release it from his palm when a thin vine of electricity hit him and clung to his forearm, shocking the system of his suit into a momentary malfunction. T'Challa hadn't done that...

“What the – ?!” Tony glared at the foreign weapon as he shook it free from his arm with difficulty. His hand blaster spluttered once, twice, before it seemed to return back to normal, but too late that he'd already lost his target in T'Challa. Tony saw the King speeding away from him before he turned his head to scour the earth for the source of the attack.

A new engine, a new motorbike identical to T'Challa's, came bursting over onto their side of the freeway as Tony watched – the rider wearing another black, reflective helmet but this time with long dark hair billowing out from underneath. Upon a closer inspection, his display informed him that the man was managing to ride the huge motorcycle one handed, with the left sleeve pinned up by the shoulder.

“There he is.” Tony growled, as the new arrival joined in with T'Challa and side by side they zoomed over the last distance toward the trucks.

Barnes was also wielding one of those new guns and together, he and the Wakandan King began shooting currents of electricity at the entirety of the police who were supposed to be protecting the cargo. With seemingly hardly any effort on the fugitives' part, they short-circuited every car that crawled to a stop in the middle of the freeway until it was just down to Barnes, T'Challa and the three armoured trucks.

Tony's temper began to rise, as he realised maybe things weren't going to be as simple as he'd planned. “Alright, Vis. Let's turn up the effort.”

Vision swooped down on their targets, but then there was another _crack!_ and he was retreating back to the safety of the sky, out of range of those new weapons. Tony could see more thin tendrils of electricity wrapped around Vision's chest, jamming his systems and incapacitating his coordination. He was struggling to break his way free – taking much longer than he should have – and the sight made Tony's heart twist in fear before he abandoned Barnes and T'Challa in favour of rushing to his friend's aid.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


The motorbike was large and heavy beneath him, but Bucky felt confident at the controls and with T'Challa by his side. As they drew up to the front of the first truck in the formation, he swapped a knowing look with the Black Panther's mask before driving past the vehicle on the right side while T'Challa took the left. As they rode past, Bucky tried to concentrate and not wonder exactly who could be so close behind just one sheet of metal with each one he passed.

He and T'Challa had a plan, and he knew his part to play.

They re-grouped at the back of Truck 3, where they pulled both bikes in close to one another as near to the back doors as they could possibly get. Bucky waited until T'Challa reached over to hold his motorbike steady before he carefully climbed up to perch on the seat, rocking dangerously in the wind that rustled his leather clothing but sounded muffled from inside his helmet. He calmed his breathing, watching the truck before him with the patience and experience he'd garnered over half a century, until he finally took the leap –

It was easy once he was holding onto the vehicle to climb up to the roof, to reach into one of his pockets and pull free the little contraption T'Challa had given him previously. Bucky remembered what to do, and attached it onto the flat surface of the roof with a soft mechanical _hiss_ before he began to cut away the metal.

Behind him, he heard the screech and scrape of his bike as T'Challa let it fall behind, and Bucky's means of escape reducing only made him work faster. With each inch of progress he made, his heart leapt higher and higher into his throat in anticipation of who could be revealed within.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


Tony ripped the bonds off of Vision, shaking his own arm again when his hand blaster puttered out upon contact with the electric current. It re-booted a few seconds later, and Vision also seemed to regain control of himself and sent Tony a grateful tip of his head in thanks.

“Watch out, this is gonna be a pain in the ass...” Tony said darkly, watching the flickering light in his palm until it steadied again. He flexed his iron hand for good measure, then looked down upon the sight of Barnes crouched low atop the roof of one of the trucks.

A thick tumble of dark hair spilled out around the fugitive's head when he pulled off the motorcycle helmet, now free and streaming in the wind around him, and Tony got the first definite confirmation of the man's identity. He zoomed in on the set look of determination on James Buchanan Barnes' face as he buckled down to get straight to work, cutting open the roof as though it were made of plasticine.

“Oh, that's just great! Weren't these supposed to be 'reinforced, practically indestructible vehicles'? Yes? No?” When the sound of propeller blades grew louder above Tony he looked up as helicopters appeared, following the heist taking place in broad daylight. Tony rolled his eyes and added into his comms, “And can someone get rid of the choppers, please and thank you!”

He then high-tailed it after Barnes with Vision close at his heels.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


Bucky had managed to clear a considerable sized hole in the truck, and he peered down into the interior as soon as he got the chance. It was clear within the first glance that Steve wasn't in there, and he countered his disappointment by detaching the little contraption from the roof with a _snap_ and getting to his feet again. T'Challa had moved around to the side of the decoy truck, waiting for Bucky, but as he was judging the drop his attention was caught and he looked up at the sight of news helicopters moving in on the action.

And Iron Man _whooshing_ up toward him.

Bucky dodged just in time – metal hands made contact with his body but he ducked out of Stark's grip, using the man's momentum through the air to throw him away again. He'd barely glanced off Bucky's back. He didn't wait around for the inevitable follow-up attack, and instead jumped off the roof and down onto the back of T'Challa's motorbike.

Bucky tried to ignore the hammering of his heartbeat, the choppers and the two Avengers circling the sky over his head like hungry vultures. He focused on the plan and pulled out his sonic pulse gun to shoot one blast over the decoy vehicle he'd just abandoned, then T'Challa took them in closer to Truck 2 while Truck 3 slowed and fell quickly behind.

He climbed up onto the roof the same as last time, attaching the device and puncturing a hole in the metal that he worked at a little more desperately than before. Bucky was aware that there was another Avenger besides Tony Stark that he had to watch out for, but he couldn't get the guy pinned down; every time he felt an incoming presence, there was nobody there to deflect. And so he just focused on the task at hand, every bump and vibration of the vehicle rumbling up through the metal and making each second perilous. He wasn't working quick enough, he could feel the time dragging on and the hole he was cutting in the truck still wasn't big enough to see if Steve was inside, and again there was that presence right there at his back _–_

Steely arms appeared around his middle, tearing him away from his work on the roof and lifting him up into the air. Bucky dropped the Wakandan device in surprise, seeing it clatter away on the road somewhere as he was pinned against a ram-rod straight, solid chest at his back. Bucky wriggled and protested, watching with wide eyes as the truck sped away beneath his dangling, kicking legs and a deep curl of fear ignited in his stomach – suddenly, he was being held 100 feet above the freeway, helpless and trapped in the grip of an opponent.

Bucky clutched at the arms with his one hand, scrabbling for purchase or anything to help him feel less _suspended._ When he tried to twist to see his captor, a smooth, British voice spoke close to his ear.

“I would highly advise against fighting me, Sergeant. You cannot possibly win.” It wasn't a malicious jab, or even a teasing taunt; it sounded sincere and almost a little apologetic, as though this man – Vision, Bucky thought his name was – felt _sorry_ for him. Though obviously not sorry enough to loosen his hold and allow Bucky to breathe properly.

“What are you gonna do with Steve?” He grunted, stuttering out the sounds while his innards still felt tied to the earth a long way below. “He's not a criminal –”

“Mr Rogers deliberately broke the law. What would _you_ constitute as a criminal?”

Bucky was losing his oxygen, smothering slowly under the unyielding grip of Vision's arms. He wasn't sure if the Avenger was aware of that fact, or if it was his intention to slowly put him to sleep as a method to take him in. Either way, he wasn't going to go down without a fight.

Mustering up all his strength, Bucky lashed out suddenly, twisting every which way to earn himself even an inch of freedom. He only succeeded in sending the two of their entwined bodies into a complex dance throughout the sky, Vision never reacting, never even flinching when Bucky's feet, elbow and fist came into contact _hard_ with his skin. He didn't stop, just kept thrashing and kicking and trying to make a mark before he inevitably passed out, mournfully watching as the freeway and the last two trucks grew smaller and smaller below him.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


T'Challa gazed up at the sight of James suspended high in the sky. It didn't look like he would be getting free in the next few moments, and so the King moved seamlessly onto plan B: he pressed a button on the body of his motorbike, snugly attaching the cable that emerged onto the side of Truck 2 so that the bike wouldn't be going anywhere without his say-so. Next, he hopped up onto the seat and balanced like the panther he was, choosing the opportune moment to leap up onto the roof of the moving vehicle.

He landed with a clatter, wincing at the pressure on the still tender bruises all over his body, but then the sight of red iron boots waiting at the front of the roof gave him the energy he needed to quickly get his feet back under him.

T'Challa stood slowly, careful to conceal the damage to his right side and the slight limp still bothering him.

“Stark.” He said darkly, glaring at the man from beneath his panther's mask. T'Challa curled his hands into fists at his sides.

“Your Majesty.”

The two men stared at each other from opposite sides of the roof, with distant sounds of the helicopters, the wind and other traffic flowing around them.

Stark spoke first, raising a hand in a sign of apology. “No hard feelings for what happened at the temple – I want you to know that was an accident, I never meant to throw you out the window.”

T'Challa's top lip twitched at the reminder of it. “But you meant to break into my labs and steal a man I promised sanctuary in my care. I do not seek revenge for what you did to me, but justice for my people and my country.”

There was a delayed silence in which the golden iron mask glared blankly at him, though T'Challa could picture the man inside thinking for an appropriate response.

“...Yeah, okay, I see your point, but – ”

“Can't you just admit that what you are doing is wrong? You have already hurt my people, and I will not let you hurt my friends.” He said as calmly as he could muster, standing his ground even when Stark began to swagger toward him with loud _clunks_ that came with each footfall.

“Oh no, I see where you think this is going but I'm gonna set this straight for you right now: there is no discussion, there is no room for leeway here. We're talkin' about fugitives, _dangerous_ fugitives, and we both know I have to take 'em in.” Stark stopped, standing very close to the hole James had managed to start cutting into the truck roof. “I apologise for the whole window thing, but the rest is justified. Mostly. We're the Avengers, and we have to be the good guys who get the bad guys. It's just how it works.”

T'Challa found his tolerance for diplomacy reach its end, and decided that he didn't have the time nor the wish to talk it out with Stark anymore. In a practised move, he unsheathed his vibranium claws and leapt for the man with a growl of effort.

It didn't take long for Stark to realise he was favouring his left side, but T'Challa parried quickly enough to defend his tender wounds. They fought like they had in the temple, only this time T'Challa was acting more out of anger than defensiveness, and he knew too late that this was what would blind him; Stark took advantage of his sore ribs to send an iron fist into his side, knocking the wind out of him and causing him to fall to the floor.

T'Challa coughed painfully, but the moment he got his breath back he struck out with his claws, digging into the small hole in the roof of the truck and scratching through the metal to make it bigger. There was a _screech_ as he did so, then the King rolled forward a little to look inside in search of Steve Rogers.

It was empty.

He huffed a little before glancing up at the final truck, still driving determinedly toward the city, then looking up higher at the tiny shape of James and Vision still tussling high above the ground. Then a loud _whir_ of machinery close-by snapped T'Challa back to the present and he grunted with the effort of rolling out of the way of Stark's reach before he could be caught. He didn't have the strength in him to fight, and with Iron Man still fully functional and out to get him, T'Challa did the only thing he could in the moment and threw himself from the truck –

He hit the freeway hard, rolling to a rocky stop that jostled every bone in his body and made him cry out upon the impact. When he managed to crack open an eye, T'Challa took out his sonic pulse gun and aimed with as much accuracy as he could after Truck 2, sending off a blast that hit its mark with a spark and the slow puttering out of the engine. He sucked in a deep breath, gritting his teeth as he looked around the sky for what he wanted next, then crawled into a better position to aim up upon the distant target of Vision drifting messily across the sky.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


Bucky continued to struggle in Vision's impossible arms, feeling the urgency of his situation rise further when he realised he'd been carried far from the freeway in the process. Black spots were blinking before his eyes as the world began to slow around him, and Bucky's frantic heartbeat became too loud in his head as his gaze tracked the distant dark smudge of the last truck standing, the one he'd come all this way for...

In a desperate last attempt for freedom, he finally managed to get a grip behind the other man's head and hauled with all his might, dragging Vision forward into a somersault in mid air. It flipped their position, allowing a rush of burning air into his grateful lungs – but turning upside down only jumbled Bucky's perception more and all he could do was keep squirming and trying to get free from the tangled mess of limbs, losing track of which side was up or down, left or right.

Vision was ruthless, holding on tight and not making a single sound of effort, but then for a moment Bucky thought he'd won: he fell free, hard and fast, jolting cold fear and relief through his system all at once as the Avenger was forced to phase himself out of their limb lock. And then a rock-hard grip closed around his ankle, halting him mid-fall and sending his brain bouncing around in his skull.

When he could understand what had happened, Bucky realised he was at even more of Vision's mercy than before – still way too high above the ground, now upside down with two of his three limbs dangling uselessly.

His view consisted of an undistinguishable blur of roads and buildings, the Hong Kong skyline swimming around in a hazy stream when he tried and failed to focus on this flipped world. Vision must have carried him even further from the freeway, as they were now hovering beside what looked to be a jagged skeleton of a building, just a criss-crossed maze of beams and exposed foundations. It looked like a long drop from here, and Bucky honestly didn't know if he could survive it, super soldier or not.

“Sergeant Barnes, I implore you to desist.” Vision sounded so far away, and Bucky twisted to look down – up? – at him. In his disorientated state, all that made sense was a flare of brilliant topaz, glaring at him as bright as the sun from the other man's forehead.

Then suddenly Vision was struck by a thin vine of electricity that came out of nowhere, causing the man to jerk violently and almost lose his grip on Bucky's leg. His stomach dropped at the prospect of falling back down to earth, and he turned his head to try and pinpoint the direction T'Challa's aid had come from. The ground looked miles away, as did the freeway... He didn't know if he could survive the fall, true, but he knew that he had to at least try.

Seeing his opportunity – and thanking T'Challa in the back of his mind – Bucky held his breath and kicked out with the heel of his boot, aiming for that little gleaming sun on Vision's head. The man made an animalistic yowl before clutching at the yellow gem with both hands, and Bucky could just watch in a state of shock and disbelief as his plan worked and the agonizing hold around his ankle was released.

The fall churned his mind, body and soul with a deep terror the likes of which he hadn't felt in over 70 long years, turning all of him to ice with the sickening dread rushing through his limbs. He tried not to think about what could happen, and instead concentrated on all he had learned on survival since that fateful incident of '45. He whizzed past the brown blur of towering support beams with the wind screeching in his ears, twisting his body around in the air so that his metal stump of a shoulder would take the brunt of the impact.

But before he could hit the ground that was coming rushing up to meet him, something huge and solid slammed into his side and knocked him off course; the iron grip was painful, the sharp press of red and gold armoured plates digging into his body all Bucky could make sense of. He was carried through the air, until he was suddenly released and rolled to a heavy stop on whatever solid surface he'd landed on.

It felt cool beneath his fingertips, and when Bucky opened his eyes all he could see were the towering skyscrapers of Hong Kong. Straightening up to better gain his bearings, he wobbled as he caught and managed to distribute his weight on the balls of his feet to avoid falling off his thin perch into nothing more but air: he had been deposited atop one of the many steel support beams that made up that building still under construction, where he was too high up to escape and had nowhere else to run.

Bucky tried to contain the panic swelling deep inside his chest – he knew he only had a moment – and used it carefully to glance around at his new surroundings and attempt to document his location.

Vision was no longer in the sky where he'd been moments ago. The freeway stretched along to the left, too far away to hope to reach, but it ran past this way and inevitably Steve's truck would too. Bucky swallowed; that was his next destination, but if he missed the truck, he'd miss his only chance... He continued to look around, noticing a huge metal crane towering high above both the road and the unfinished structure of the building, situated at the other side of the construction site. Before he could log much more, however, the now all too familiar sight of Iron Man hovering before him slid into view. Bucky scowled.

“You shouldn't have done that – that was _my friend_ you just put down!” Stark spat, his voice made slightly mechanical through his golden visor. It glowered with a stare that was undoubtedly matched by Stark himself.

Bucky didn't answer, just panted as he caught his breath from his assault through the sky. He was pierced with the irony of the statement as his thoughts raced back to Steve: he didn't even want to consider what they could have done to him to prevent his imminent escape from the armoured trucks. It must have been pretty extensive to keep a super soldier in confinement...

Bucky stared into the cold eyes of that mask, all of his dread and fear and desperation reaching a peak. He felt trapped, desperate, stalked by this man who seemed to follow just one step behind wherever Bucky tried to go. He only had a short time-frame to enact his rescue plan, and every second Tony Stark stood in his way reduced the chances of reaching Steve before he was locked up tight for the foreseeable future. That made Bucky's hackles rise. It made his blood pound in his veins. This time... it made Bucky _want_ to fight.

With that thought, he bundled up all of his courage and yelled in an angry burst of exertion as he threw himself right off the support beam and latched onto whichever part of iron armour he could find. Stark buckled under the unexpected weight, trying to shake him off like Bucky himself had just done to Vision, but he wasn't about to let that happen.

Even with only one arm in the game Bucky managed to cling on tight and somehow clambered onto Iron Man's back, with his powerful legs wrapped tightly around the waist and his arm around Stark's throat. The billionaire still had the helmet on so it was unlikely Bucky could restrict his airway, but he tried with all his might just in case; he was tired of running, tired of being chased, and all he wanted was to shake off his unwelcome predator and escape the city with Steve by his side.

He looked up to check on the progress of the last armoured truck on its descent down the freeway just as Stark backed up against one of the large corner beams, crashing Bucky's body hard against the block of steel. The impact wounded him enough for his grip around Stark's throat to slacken, and the man wrenched free of Bucky's hold and left him to slip helplessly down to earth with gravity. Bucky gasped in surprise and pain, reaching out and just managing to catch the edge of a metal girder he fell past to stop his fall, almost pulling his arm out the socket in the process.

“That was a neat bike, by the way. Riding one handed. Impressive. Your Royal friend set that up for you?” Stark said from above him.

Bucky grunted in effort and grit his teeth, hauling himself back onto the girder. He gathered himself in an instant and bolted to his feet before Stark was upon him again.

They fought perilously – sparks, lashes and punches swinging wildly over the 200 ft drop to the ground below as they passed between both men. Bucky kicked boldly, the muscles in his leg jarring when he made contact and forced the hardy suit of armour a little further away each time. He reached into the back of his belt and pulled out his sonic gun, giving in to the fight and finally dismissing his reservations. He took aim, but after a shrill _pew!_ from Stark's palm the gun was sent spiralling down the centre of the open expanse of the unfinished building and disappeared from sight.

Stark's mask watched him constantly, giving away no hint of the man's true emotions. But then he held up both hands in a sign of surrender, confusing Bucky even further when he spoke, since Stark was the one who had the upper hand here. “Look, will you just _stop_ for a second!”

It was only out of surprise that Bucky _did_ pause, trapped like a mouse before a cat, boxed into a corner and with no weapons of his own. He kept his stance ready for the slightest indication this was a trap, prepared to make a bid for freedom the moment the opportunity arose.

“No matter what you might think, _I'm not the bad guy here._ ” Stark said, with his hands still held up by his head.

Bucky's eyes flicked over the man, checking for any blinking lights that suggested an incoming attack. There were none to be seen.

“I know...” He swallowed, catching his breath. “I am.” It hurt to admit, more so than he'd expected. But Bucky wasn't here for good or bad, he was here for Steve, no matter how it looked in the public eye.

“Well... that was easy wasn't it?”

“I don't want to hurt people. I don't want to kill anyone – ” He began to explain, finding that he couldn't make himself meet the eyes of Iron Man once the shame kicked in. Bucky suddenly realised that his chest was tight with the remorse and guilt he'd tried to bury deep inside, and he had to cut himself off before his emotions got the better of him.

His breath sounded too loud in his ears, until he forced his head back in the game. Steve was still in need of rescue, and that was all that mattered here.

“Then just stop... _this._ ” Stark gestured at Bucky, at everything he was and everything he was still yet to do. It felt like a punch to the gut, but Bucky clenched his jaw and forced himself to look into Stark's masked face again. Something about the man's voice sounded almost... sad. It was the first time in a long time that Bucky hadn't felt immediately threatened by him.

“I can't.” He admitted, taking the chance to glance around for any easy way down from the bones of the building, but he came up empty.

“Why not? We take you in, you get a nice comfy cell, a tv, maybe even some visitation rights after a few years... it wouldn't be a bad life. Even though it's more than I think you deserve...”

Bucky gave him that one, if he was being honest with himself. But he sucked in a deep breath and kept his posture straight, unapologetic. “What about Steve? Would you keep him locked up for the rest of his life? He doesn't deserve it, he's not done the things that I've done.”

Bucky tried to disguise the way his hand trembled with nerves and dread, even as he balled it into a fist by his side.

“Hey – he made his decision.” Stark stated a little defensively, but continued more softly again. “He'd get the same treatment, though less severe, since as far as I know he's not been a murdering psychopath for the last 70 years. Maybe we'd even give you little cells side by side, if Ross is feeling generous.”

Bucky didn't appreciate the humour, and felt the tiny glimmer of hope of a better solution die out inside him. He nodded in understanding to what he already knew he was going to hear. He was done talking. “Then I won't give up.”

“Then you're going to get hurt.”

“Fine. But so will you.”

“Bring it on.”

Now unarmed, Bucky dived out of the way of Stark's incoming attack, leaping drastically across the hollow building where he landed painfully on an opposite support beam a few stories below. Iron Man followed and the fight continued, turning dirtier and more desperate with every passing blow and every frantic second that Bucky could feel slipping out of his grasp.

He didn't have time for this – he needed to clear enough ground to get away and back on the trail of Steve's truck. Now too low to see the freeway from his current position, Bucky panicked and misjudged an incoming fist that bashed into the side of his face. He was sent reeling back, unable to avoid the next energy blast burning orange, blaring right into his chest.

The pain seared white hot against his ribs, the bolt of power more devastating than a real punch could ever be and it winded Bucky completely. He collapsed onto his hand and knees, gasping for breath before a second hit to match came scorching in against his back, knocking him flat to the unforgiving beam on his tender stomach. Bruised and battered from iron fists, no doubt bleeding from the unfortunate attacks he'd been unable to deflect, Bucky winced and squinted up in the direction his opponent had struck from, struggling to get back up on his feet again.

He felt almost dazed, with his ears ringing and drowning out all sound except his harsh breathing and the prickling arrival of jet boots coming for him again.

Bucky met the iron face with a fowl, determined stare; Tony Stark was flying right at him, slow but presumptuous as though he knew he was about to win the battle, with both hands raised (whether for the final blow or as a prelude to another one-liner, he didn't care).

Before it could be determined, Bucky pulled something from a hidden pocket on his body with a grimace and threw it up into the air right in front of Iron Man's face.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


A flash grenade exploded, loud and unexpected and caused Tony to stop and duck back, swatting away the residue from his face and blinking to rid the impossible flash from his eyes. It took only a second to clear his vision, but when he looked back at the place where Barnes had been just a moment ago, the assassin was nowhere to be seen.

Iron Man span on the spot, searching the immediate area for any sign of the man he'd lost yet again. Turning this way and that, frustrated at constantly coming up blank, Tony irritably opted to descend the remaining stories and continue his search at ground level, his suit whirring loudly in the now too still surroundings.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


A thick carpet of brick dust coated the ground – the top layer floating slightly, newly disturbed – and was full of the impression of recent activity from now absent workmen. It was silent down in the abandoned construction site, the rise of the freeway too far away to impose on the unnerving stillness of the place. Iron Man landed softly, the metallic glide of his armour singing loudly as he opened his helmet.

Hidden behind the closest of the steel support beams with his one hand clutching the aching bruise on his ribs, Bucky stood poised for escape with his body stinging distractedly and his heart in his throat. Stark had yet to find him and he controlled his breathing, keeping as calm and quiet as possible while every instinct told him to turn and run in the opposite direction.

Quiet _thunks_ of metal boots against the padding of dust grew closer, and Bucky pressed back against the cool beam in the hopes of hiding himself entirely, slowly turning his head toward the sound but not brave enough to chance catching a glimpse of the man on the other side. Instead he listened to the small, prominent sounds in the silence; the disgruntled little huffs from Stark and each footstep that took him round the nearby area as he examined it for the wanted fugitive secretly standing so close...

Stark looked down at the ground beside him, noting the thick boot tracks of the workers all thundering away in a little herd to safety from the superhero fight taking place on their construction site, but he was unable to distinguish any new, additional footsteps disguised in the pattern and moved on in his search. Bucky was tempted just to run for it but he stayed put, pulse hammering in his ribcage and his skull as he waited excruciatingly to be found. Or more hopefully, for a moment he could use to his advantage.

There was another slide of metal plating shifting. “Heat signatures.” He thought he heard Stark mutter under his breath, and Bucky's escaped him in a defeated little gust. He knew it was over now... but then Stark spoke again, louder this time, as though distracted from where his thoughts had been leading him. “No – all this gear's still running hot, I don't have a visual.”

Bucky allowed himself a second to clear his mind and think strategically; if Stark was going to occupy himself searching down here, then that could give him freer reign of the freeway... that was if he hadn't already missed the truck. He had no way to know what had happened to T'Challa, if he was even still in pursuit of Steve or if he'd perhaps found him already, but he didn't have the liberty of fantasies.

Bucky's eyes roamed over the environment, trailing over the playground of debris and equipment, the underside of the freeway, until he looked up through the towering interior of the building he'd just fought upon and was now currently hiding within. He could see the looming rise of that yellow tower crane, situated at the other side of the building from his location.

The sound of Stark's footsteps fading slightly broke Bucky out of his train of thought, and this time he allowed himself to peek very carefully around the beam he was hiding behind; Iron Man was still uncomfortably close, turned at a three quarter angle and moving his head slowly from side to side. It was dangerous every time the helmet swept too close to the side of Bucky's position and he waited with a sniper's precision for the moment he needed, preparing to propel himself with the Soldier's speed.

His body was aching, but that was to be expected after what he'd just put it through, and his mind was more preoccupied with the reason he'd come all the way to China in the first place. The burning ebb on his ribs and his back was easing slightly, and in a few hours shouldn't hinder him too much either.

Bucky was getting used to directing himself accordingly due to his new skewed balance, but he missed the secure and reliable weight of his metal arm. Tony Stark had taken it from him, and for that he was angry... but it only reminded him that he was not about to let the man steal anything else from him...

When Stark next turned his head away, Bucky took the opportunity to silently dart out from his hiding place with a surge of determination, disappearing into the depths of the structure without a sound to give himself away.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


The higher he rose, the louder the world became as Bucky surfaced from the hub of the construction site. The metal rungs of the crane bit into his palm as he hauled himself up the mast infuriatingly slowly: climbing a ladder with one hand was a lot of work, and he had to wind his arm around each bar before carefully reaching up for the next one, constantly balancing on the edge of the threat of falling back down the way he'd come.

The wind picked up around his head again when he surpassed the level of the freeway, and from up here he could see the stretching expanse of the road on both sides. With a shaky exhale, Bucky spotted Steve's truck still trundling up the road in his direction, and continued his ascent toward the empty operator's cabin.

So far there had been no sign of either Iron Man or Vision, but Bucky kept checking over his shoulder every few rungs with a growing sense of being crept up on.

Amazingly, he reached the cabin undetected and awkwardly climbed up into the tight space to scan the world from his new vantage point. The sight of Hong Kong splayed out before him was miraculous – with the sun glowing in the sky and illuminating the towering masterpiece of a city, sparkling on the surface of a river on the other side of the freeway. But Bucky didn't have time to take in the view, and leaned over the operator's seat to clasp his hand around the left joystick.

With a simple push of the controller the rig began to turn, swinging slowly around to the left before picking up a little speed. The skyline rotated through the large window pane and made Bucky's eyes hurt, so he focused instead on wrapping a few long cables tightly around the controller to tie it in the place he wanted it in order to keep the structure spinning in a continuous loop.

His pulse was thumping madly as his internal countdown decreased, narrowing his window of opportunity to finally reach Steve. The crane was now turning in the right direction to reach the freeway; he only had one shot at this, and he was absolutely determined not to fail.

Bucky yelled at the effort and the strain on his bruised ribs when he sent a mighty kick through the large window, severing the only barrier between himself and the huge drop to the ground below. The window cracked, the whole thing coming away at the edges and twisting gracefully as it fell down to earth and out of sight.

The blustering wind returned, almost knocking Bucky off-balance where he stood. He braced himself, dubiously eyeing the way ahead and wondering whether this was in fact a good idea or not, but he didn't have any other suggestions and the desperation building inside him was as strong a motivator as any.

It was now or never.

Taking a deep breath, Bucky leaned dangerously out of the empty window frame and gripped onto one of the yellow bars above him. Without allowing time to second-guess himself, he swung his body out into the open air, dangling solely by his only arm on the towering, _moving_ crane.

Ignoring the scream of his bruised body and the aching tug of his muscles, Bucky hoisted himself up, his face scrunching in effort and his long hair flying around his head. He almost slipped, a tidal wave of nausea and dizziness punching through his veins, before managing to clamber inside the triangle frame of the jib and finally looking down at his revolving surroundings.

The view was the same as when he'd been a captive of Vision, with the building site beneath him and the freeway beside it. Only this time, Bucky watched as he was swept over the road and carried away again on the rotating pivot of the crane. It would bring him back around, he knew, and so he set off down the length of the jib in a low crouch as fast as his legs would carry him.

He only had a few seconds before he was bound to catch some unwanted attention...

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


Bustling around for any sign of Barnes in the construction site wasn't proving to be very successful for Tony, it turned out. He was frustrated with himself and with Barnes, for not being able to just come in quietly then disappearing on him! For a moment there he'd started to think maybe they could come to a compromise, but as it turned out, Barnes and Rogers were a lot more alike than he'd expected. He didn't doubt whose hero complex had rubbed off on the other, though...

Tony wheeled around again, checking behind support beams and the workmen's abandoned equipment, when Vision's voice crackled through his helmet.

“I lost his Royal Highness.”

Tony straightened up, huffing in annoyance. “What do you mean you 'lost him'?”

“I mean he is nowhere to be found. I have eyes on the last truck, but there is no sign of him. Shall I join you and Sergeant Barnes?”

Tony fought off the urge to rub his tired eyes due to wearing a helmet, and gave his surroundings one more quick check before he sighed in defeat. “I lost him.”

“What do you mean you 'lost him'?”

“Now is not the time to develop a sense of humour, Vis. I'm all for it in the long run, but right now we need to focus on tracking down two dangerous fugitives – ” Tony started when something moving caught the corner of his eye. He looked up, his helmet logging the conspicuous tower crane and the way it was spinning over its environment too quickly to be a calculated move, like there was an imposter in the driver's seat...

Upon inspection it appeared to be empty, but it didn't take a genius – and that, Tony was – to follow the sight of a busted in window up to the open, exposed, and highly ludicrous vantage point and the unmistakable figure of Barnes. He watched as the assassin navigated the rotating platform, wobbling a little here and there but never slowing down in his intent to reach the end of the jib. Tony shook his head in almost disbelief, judging the scenario and how, this time, the man had only made himself an easy target. He literally had nowhere else to go.

“Never mind, I got him.”

“I'll meet you up there.”

“Uh huh.”

Vision had evidentially spotted the assassin too, and Tony lifted off into the air and made his way over to the spinning crane with his target locked in his sights.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


Bucky was busy running along the criss-cross of metal bars when a foreboding figure in his peripherals slowly came in to hover gracefully beside the crane.

“Sergeant Barnes, you _must_ stop, or I will be forced to make you.”

Bucky only frowned at Vision, holding eye contact in an act of rebellion as he made no effort to slow down. Steve's truck was coming in fast, close enough now that he could hear the grumbling of the engine and the tread of the tires crunching along the road. He didn't have the time or the patience to be interrupted now –

A deafening _ziiiing!_ of golden heat melted into Bucky's path in a stream of light, forcing him to totter to a stop and catch himself on one of the bars slanting overhead before he ran into the sizzling beam of energy. It was a quick burst, shocking and hot enough to halt him, but then Bucky turned his gaze back to Vision's, judging for his next reaction when he bolted forward a few more steps.

Another _ziiiing!_ rent the air, this time closer than the last, but Bucky was prepared enough to dodge back and avoid any direct contact. He'd already been blasted by Iron Man's energy bolts, the injuries on his torso still smarting at the memory, and he didn't even _want_ to know what that godforsaken jewel of Vision's could do. But he also wasn't about to give up, either.

_Ziiiing!_

Bucky ducked and ran farther.

_Ziiiing!_

He jumped, landing awkwardly on the sparse metal footrests and crashing against the unyielding bars as they came sweeping around at his back. The crane kept spinning and Vision kept floating just out of reach, effortlessly keeping a safe distance between himself and any attempted counter-attack.

Ziiiing! Ziiiing! ZIIIIIIING!

The distasteful tang of hot metal soured the air and when one last solid beam of gold dissipated, Bucky was left reeling on the edge of the considerably _shorter_ crane than it had been before, clinging to the frame above him like a lifeline as he tried to catch his balance.

He gaped after the end portion of the jib now tumbling away from him, where it landed somewhere out of sight with a distant _clang._ The crane circled onto the freeway, finally coming to where Bucky wanted it to be. Only...

When he lifted his head, Vision was coming in hot with a blaze of emotion in his humanoid face that hadn't been there before. Bucky stared, his insides tying themselves all up in knots as the man menacingly rounded the broken end of the jib, facing him head-on and leaving nowhere else to hide. The yellow jewel sparkled anew on his forehead, building in intensity to rival the maniacal look twinkling in those eyes.

The man looked unrecognisable, suddenly, like the jewel had taken over as the most prominent part of him and everything else was unimportant. It made Bucky's blood run cold, his instincts flare, and at the last second he dived for cover behind his trusty metal arm before he even remembered that it was no longer a part of his body –

There was a blinding flash as bright as the sun and the force that followed knocked him back, sending him off his feet and crashing backwards into the triangle metal cage of the crane.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


“Vis!” Tony cried, watching the shape of his friend fall from within the brilliant flash of gold and tumble down to the ground. The golden cape rippled out behind him before getting tangled around the lead weight of his limp body, and Tony only paused in a moment of horror before diving down after him.

This wasn't like the last time, when he'd been twitching and struggling with T'Challa's electric gun. This time, Tony's stomach lurched as he chased away the de'ja vu of watching Rhodey fall from the sky like a rag doll. He covered his eyes instinctively when Vision landed and skidded on the freeway with a sickening _CRASH!,_ tossing up the asphalt and leaving a deep groove in his wake like a meteor striking the earth.

Tony's face went pale when Vision finally came to a stop right in front of the final oncoming truck.

“No!” He shouted, reaching out a hand as though he could stop the inevitable.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


Back up inside the hollow sanctuary of the crane, Bucky shook off his disorientation and rolled painfully onto his side. His ears were ringing and a strange tingling sensation was radiating out from his metal shoulder, like it'd been dipped in warm honey that was now trickling into the muscles connected to the seam. It took him a second to remember why he was spinning and what had just happened, and to finally put two and two together. Then he watched through the gaps in the yellow frame with widening eyes as the crash played out below.

Vision, Iron Man, the truck – _Steve!_ In a complicated mess of movement and sparks that he could barely make sense of as they swept by underneath him, he watched as the final truckswerved frantically and went careening off its intended trajectory in a wild attempt to avoid the collision –

Bucky rolled over to keep it in his sights, his mouth falling open in silent horror that blazed white hot and deep through his bones when the driver dived from the front seat, the armoured truck cascaded off the road and smashed through the barrier. With a roaring _SPLASH!,_ the last thing he saw of the vehicle was the back doors disappearing off the far side of the freeway into the depths of the river below...

With Steve still locked inside.

The tower crane had almost finished its cycle over the road and Bucky just managed to scramble to his feet and leap from the thing before he would have missed his mark completely. He landed with a cry and a roll then pelted determinedly after the place where he'd watched Steve's truck fall just seconds before, passing the wreck of Vision and Stark in a blur without a second glance.

He hadn't come all this way, dragged the Wakandans into his fight and taken control of his new life only to have to face the rest of it alone! His boots thumped against the ground too fast to count, the wind whipping past his ears and stinging his face and filling his lungs, while he also felt like he couldn't breathe at all.

Before he knew what he was doing, Bucky reached the break in the barrier Steve's truck had cleared and dived off after it, bracing himself for the initial impact and the whoosh of cold wetness that poured over his body.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


Tony didn't even linger on the sight of Barnes, and instead ducked to pull Vision out of the wreck he'd made of the road and check on his condition; upon first inspection the man didn't seem to have a scratch on him, as perfectly formed and preserved as ever. Tony's heart stuttered in relief, because he knew realistically that Vision could never truly be hurt. He shook his friend gently by the shoulder, expecting him to open his eyes and sit up as though he hadn't felt a thing.

But his eyes were closed as though he were unconscious. Or as though he were...

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


Bucky's burns and bruises stung under the water but he'd long since learned how to channel pain, and pushed past the discomfort in favour of searching his murky surroundings for the shape of a large vehicle.

He didn't have to look long – the white mass of bubbles from his jump quickly cleared, but the thin trail burrowing down into the depths of the river led him like breadcrumbs to the sight of the truck he wanted, sinking rapidly nose first and pouring out more air with each millisecond. He didn't even want to picture Steve tied up inside, scared and unable to free himself, unaware that Bucky was so close to him and had come all this way just to steal him back...!

He swam further into the river with a new bout of determination, struggling to propel himself properly without the use of both hands and in the weight of his waterlogged leather. He scrabbled at the lock holding the back doors shut tight, coming to almost stand on the surface and use the strength in his legs to help gain leverage. He might not have had a mechanical arm to aid him anymore but his own was strong enough, successfully peeling the bolt off the doors after a few rough tugs.

Bucky didn't know how much longer he could hold his breath, with the fear of what he might find as soon as he opened the doors squeezing the oxygen out of him. He didn't waste any more time thinking – he just acted.

But when he wrenched the doors open against the force of the crushing weight, even in the dark stillness that came with being underwater, the sight hit him with a spike of paralysing dread.

The water clawed at his eyes and the empty absence of sound, even his own pulse, stretched on excruciatingly before he allowed himself to accept what he was looking at: an empty truck, sucking him down deeper into the hungry depths of a Chinese river. There was no blond man secured inside, and there were no super soldier restraints even burst open as any evidence that Steve had made it out all by himself.

There was just nothing.

The last dregs of light slithered away in the ripple of water, leaving Bucky more hollow than he'd been the second before. He continued to sink down to the riverbed in tandem with the deceit and the realisation at the truth of the situation. In a sort of daze, he absently became aware of a light building from somewhere but only startled out of his whirlwind of thoughts when big, iron hands closed around his middle.

“You're _really_ not worth all this trouble, y'know.” The distorted, surreal, watery voice of Tony Stark pooled into Bucky's ears as the man tried to pry him away from the last place he had associated with his best friend. Bucky shivered at the touch and the underwater voice and the goddamn _empty_ space where Steve should be, and lashed out wildly, kicking free from Iron Man's arms and resorting to the only sensible course of action he could think of.

He dived into the body of the truck, searching it properly just in case as it became swathed in bright blue light that elongated the shadows and only made him swim further away from the man approaching at his back.

His lungs felt burned and shrivelled in his chest, the aches and pains from the last few days taking him over and pleading with him to just stop, just _rest._ Bucky lashed out again when Stark tried to grab him, though this time his attack was more futile than he would have liked.

“ _Stop. Fighting._ ” Stark's suit gargled in his ear, and he held irritation and restraint in his tone as though talking to a child. It flared Bucky's anger as he pushed at the body of Iron Man's armour when two hands clamped down on him again. “I seem to recall that even super soldiers can't breathe under water. Take your time. I'll wait.” Stark quipped, trying to find a way to grab the protesting man without being overthrown.

Finally he managed to pin Bucky's back to his chest, a thick arm tight around his shoulders and the other grasping his only fist in a bone-breaking hold, preventing him from even moving an inch for fear of breaking the only arm he had left.

Bucky twisted his head away, becoming aware that they'd drifted from the empty truck during their short tussle, and he could now only see the bleary shape finally coming to a stop at the bottom of the riverbed.

He was pinned tight, even if he thrashed his legs he couldn't hope to break free of the hold on him, and finally the thought that he'd been captured, that Steve was gone and Bucky had no idea where he was, and that he was already drowning, sucked the last ounce of fight out of him.

And everything felt better once he just gave in to it; his muscles began to relax, his head wasn't so full of racing thoughts, and even the pain of grasping onto the last sip of oxygen washed away. It wasn't so bad anymore, Bucky's heavy head supplied, and he was just conscious enough to blink at the sunken truck before he lost all string of coherent thought.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


Tony held on tight, using all of his patience to keep from snapping at least a bone or two while he had the formidable Winter Soldier at his fingertips. He resisted, if only because he was trying to _restrain_ him, not cause him to cry out and drown. Yards of thick dark hair obscured his vision, and he resorted to just gritting his teeth and not giving any slack for the guy to escape from again.

This whole decoy had practically been a bust, he admitted to himself. Tony thought he'd made sure not to underestimate his opponent, but clearly he'd been wrong, and now they had a whole lot of new wrongs to put right. He hadn't been expecting T'Challa's arrival, and he also hadn't anticipated his best soldier, his supposed-to-be-invinsible-robot friend to be put down in the process, or to have to leave him where he fell in order to catch _this_ son of a bitch!

Tony fumed at what had happened to Vision, and to the rest of the team working the job today for that matter, all because of this one man! At least he'd finally stopped struggling, Tony noted, and only a second after that thought registered came the curiosity...

Tony finally noticed the way Barnes' head was lulling in the sway of the water, how every part of him but the constant press of the metal stump had gone soft and pliable. He couldn't see from this angle, but he guessed that the man's eyes would be closed and his lungs filling with water -

“Oh crap.” He gushed, coming to his senses and bursting up out of the depths of the river with the help of his jet boots.

The two figures broke the surface in a slew of water, ducking down to the road where Tony scooped up Vision, then he turned and sped away over toward the city's skyscrapers, leaving the river to slowly calm itself down and wash away the tell-tale ripples left behind.

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this latest installment and are interested to find out what'll happen next now that Tony has Bucky! And what happened to Vision...? And T'Challa, for that matter...?
> 
> As a disclaimer, I'll say I've never been to Hong Kong so please forgive me if some of the geography is off here with the river etc :P And thanks for all the kudos and comments so far, it's really amazing to get feedback after putting so much work into a story, as I'm sure every author will agree, and I really appreciate it :) Until next time! x


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey you guys! Thanks so much for the awesome comments I've been getting on this fic, it makes all the hard work and planning worth it and I'm grateful for each and every one x)
> 
> Now for this chapter: there is a very brief description of torture ahead, so please be careful if you feel like that's something you need to watch out for. I'll add more detail in the end notes in case you want to check first before continuing :)

 

The room was dark and full of sounds of movement. Bucky was being transported, with strong hands gripping under his arms and dragging him carelessly over a rough stone floor. He could feel every bump and twinge of his body, that was quivering and strung tight like a bow about to snap in apprehension. The left side of him felt wrong, and the unbalanced weight of his torso was pulling him down faster than they could lift him up again.

He didn't know where they were taking him, his mind was still too foggy to make any sense of anything, but the wriggling weight in the pit of his stomach told him it was going to hurt.

Like it always did.

The next thing he knew he found himself on his back, prying open scratchy eyes to stare at the glare of a light bulb dangling high above his head. Things seemed to be moving like he was underwater – with sluggish, ghostly shapes slipping to and fro in his peripheral vision that he was too slow to catch. He knew people were talking, but he couldn't make out a single word they said.

He was cold and shivering, wet. They poured another bucket of water over his torso, washing away the blood he couldn't see but that he knew was there all the same. And then there was a flash of light, a sear of agony along his left side and Bucky tried to scream but nothing came out of his mouth. The pain was so bad it drowned out everything else but the clawing and the digging, tearing at him like needles into the sore, tender flesh of the remains of his left arm.

They were turning him into a monster; he could feel the sharp bite of metal at his shoulder, the whir of a saw and hot sparks whizzing past his face. He wasn't cold anymore, instead it felt like his body was full of fire that coursed through his muscles and licked into the place where scarred skin turned into metal, the smell of burning seeping up into his nose and making him gag.

He was vaguely aware of someone standing over him, dragging him out of his own head enough to realise _they_ were the one doing this to him! And even through the haze and through the pain and through the blur of red clouding his vision, he tried to reach out his hand and touch the shadow, just to do _something_ to fight back –

  
  


When Bucky jerked and finally opened his eyes it was just the remnants of his nightmare swimming hazily above him, fizzling away like water down a drain. His left arm was buzzing and the seam where metal was attached to his skin was burning like crazy – until he realised that there were no scientists crowding over him, nobody holding him still and nobody clawing at his open flesh with sharp little instruments. It was 70 years later, his brain supplied, and Bucky felt himself sag in relief as the last echo of his nightmare evaporated. Even so, the ghost of pressure lingered on his skin like a fresh touch.

Chest heaving, Bucky blinked himself properly awake and looked around at the view of an empty 21st Century hospital room. Sweat was cooling on his skin, the sun was bright and flooding the room and he was aware of a _beep beep beep_ coming from somewhere nearby. The starched pillow rustled under his hair when he turned his head in search of any hostile company, but after an initial examination of his surroundings it seemed he was alone.

Large glass windows ran the full length of the wall at his side, one of which was twisted open and hanging ajar to allow a whisper of a breeze to blow in softly and cool his forehead. City sounds drifted into the room also, as though the world was bustling a long way down below. Bucky squinted at the view outside, waiting for his initial panic to fade and his brain to make sense of what he was seeing.

He was still in Hong Kong. He'd jumped into the river after the armoured truck and must have passed out from lack of oxygen. Iron Man had been there under the water with him... and Steve had been nowhere to be found.

Bucky sighed in defeat, closing his eyes and sinking deeply into the pillow beneath him. When he made to rub his hand over his face, a metallic _clank_ by his wrist told him with a knowing dose of dread that he was handcuffed to the hospital bed. Upon a quick inspection he saw that he was practically _welded_ into a thick metal cuff that covered his whole hand like a glove: it secured his remaining arm in place against the railing protruding from the bed frame, and the bed frame itself seemed to have been bolted into the floor. The whole setup looked pretty heavy duty and impossible for him to break.

“Great...” He said to himself, voice cracked and dry, and stared blankly up at the too-white tiles on the ceiling. He resorted to just counting his breaths, a steady stream of _in_ s and _out_ s creating a smooth rhythm as he tried to think.

With no metal arm and currently very little strength in his remaining, aching limbs, it didn't look like he would be able to break himself free from the restraint any time soon. His chest and his back were stinging hotly from the burn of Stark's hand blasters, healing slowly but still raw enough to cause him discomfort; he couldn't have been unconscious for very long. Bucky squirmed a little where he lay, testing the gigantic cuff smothering his hand but it didn't budge.

As much as he hated to admit it, he had to eventually accept the fact that he'd been caught and had no means of escape or even anywhere to go.

There was nothing he could do right now but wait.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


Peering through the dim reflection of his own tired face, Tony watched the slumbering shape of Vision lying in a hospital bed, unmoving and plugged up to a multitude of machines through a sheet of glass. He was immune to the sounds of the hospital and medical staff bustling to and fro behind his back, lost in his thoughts and his fear and his rage at what had happened to one of his few remaining Avengers. He'd rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and had a hand contemplatively toying with his trimmed beard, eyes never leaving the form of his friend.

“I mean - how could this even happen?! His brain is synthetic, he shouldn't even be able to _go_ into a comatose state...” He brooded, hissing lowly to the person at his side who also looked puzzled over this concept – a middle-aged Chinese woman with a greying thatch of hair on her head and a tablet in her hands.

“We are not yet sure. There are a lot of complications with this type of technology that we are yet to understand. Even with our own technological advancements, it will take some _time_ to interpret the full effects of his condition. And how to reverse it.” Dr Zhou insisted, calm and gentle in the way only a kindly doctor was. “That is... if it can even be reversed at all.” She added, and Tony's appreciation for the woman dropped significantly.

“Yeah? We'll see about that...” He muttered thoughtfully, still watching the Vision-shaped mound through the glass. “I wanna take 'im home. See if I can't speed this whole thing up back in my lab,” Tony tore his gaze off of his friend, turning to address Dr Zhou directly. “Can you get him ready for transport? I want to be outta here in an hour or two...” He checked his watch.

“Mr Stark. I do not think travel would be wise; in the patient's condition, I want to keep him settled and somewhere I can keep a close eye on him -”

“Which is why you're coming with me.” Tony stated simply, looking up to see Dr Zhou's wrinkled face ripple with surprise. “That won't be a problem will it?”

“Mr Stark, I can't possibly! I have responsibilities here. Patients...”

“You can fly first class – though of course there's only one class 'cause it's my personal plane – we'll get you some drinks or a movie or whatever you like. C'mon? How about a puppy? You want a puppy? Cause I can get you one no problem.” He almost begged, reaching out to put a hand on the doctor's shoulder before thinking better of it and just clasping his hands together instead. He gave the woman his best puppy-dog eyes of his own.

Dr Zhou looked conflicted, but the twinkle in her eye as she glanced back at Vision told Tony what he wanted to know: this was a woman curious about the scientific anomaly lying on the other side of that glass, and what she could learn by exploring it further. Plus, the puppy probably wasn't doing anything to dissuade her. Finally, she nodded once in agreement.

“Great! It's a done deal. You're doin' me a big favour here, I'll owe you one. So, an hour? Two, tops? We good to go?” This time, he did clap a grateful hand on the woman's shoulder before walking past her in the direction of an exit. Or a window. Anything that could chase off the stuffy hospital vibe that clung to Tony's skin and made him want to blast something to smithereens. And he knew exactly what – no, _who –_ he wanted that thing to be...

He made it halfway down the corridor when quick footsteps jogged up behind him, causing Tony to turn around and all hopes of a cup of coffee and a quick flight amongst the skyscrapers to ease his mind slipping away.

“Mr Stark?” A man in a suit who Tony vaguely recognised from when he'd arrived at the hospital earlier stopped in front of him, catching his breath as if he'd just ran the whole length of the building. “He's awake.” The meaningful look he wore informed Tony that he wasn't talking about Vision.

In all the action and the drama surrounding his friend's condition and subsequent coma, Tony had barely had time to consider what he'd do when this moment came. His blood boiled with hatred and deep flames only out for revenge, but then he forced a calmness over himself and cleared his throat, pushing down all the rage inside so he could at least _act_ like a grown human being.

“Alright. Let's head over there.” He said tightly, almost successfully passing off his anger as meagre impatience. Straightening his shoulders, Tony led the way back in the direction the other man had just come from, toward the high security wing of the hospital.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


_Beep... Beep...Beep...Beep..._

Tony stalked calmly past two armed guards, who were situated at either side of a door into a private hospital room. Inside, the place was awash in bright afternoon light that fell lazily across the floor in an abstract print and lit up the bedraggled assassin chained into the bed frame, whose sharp eyes were watching Tony like a hawk.

The man looked bulkier somehow, like he shouldn't really be able to fit into the bed at all, even with one arm missing. He was propped up against the pillows at a 45 degree angle, his long dark hair contrasting drastically with the light bedsheets like an oil stain, and Tony held back the urge to grit his teeth in hatred at the sight of him.

Barnes watched him, tracking his movements like a wary animal as Tony drew slowly closer.

“I hope you're proud of yourself.” He came to a stop near the foot of the bed, crossing his arms over his chest a little more tightly than necessary. “You managed to put one of the most invincible men on the planet into a coma. Add that to your conscience.” Tony uttered, his voice low and dark. “Assuming you even have one.”

He found that now, while actually staring into the face of the beast, he somehow couldn't unleash all the dark emotions that had been swirling around inside him like a tornado since their last unfortunate meeting. Huh.

His quiet monotone seemed to have landed a blow on Barnes though, who broke their eye contact first to stare at his wrist encased in a large cuff. There was a long moment where neither man spoke, only the muffled sounds of the surrounding hospital and the steady _beep beep_ of the monitors breaking the silence.

Finally, Barnes found his voice. “I told you you would get hurt if you didn't get outta my way.”

“Yeah. _Me._ Not my friends.”

“And what about my friends?” Barnes looked up again, the puff of his breath and the rise and fall of his chest the only signs he wasn't simply a statue. A creepy, murderous statue. “It was a trap... you never had Steve, did you?”

“Uh no, no we didn't.” Tony stated, suddenly indulging the urge to be moving around. He began pacing back and forth, watching Barnes all the while. “We _were_ going after him, but by the time we got there he was gone. But after the scene you caused out there today I wouldn't be surprised if he comes straight to us.”

Tony watched as the realisation hit, then the defeated resignation to the fact that he was right flashed over Barnes' face. The assassin sighed, closing his eyes and silently contemplating the likelihood that he'd probably just lured his own friend out of hiding. God, Tony _was_ a genius.

He continued his pacing, eyes sliding around the room nonchalantly as he did so. “Secretary Ross is looking forward to meeting you, finally. Before putting you away for a _very_ long time...”

“What do you want?” Barnes interrupted, apparently at a short tether. Tony could work with that.

“Oh, I dunno. Um, maybe I want my friend not to be lying in a coma in this hospital, or maybe I want to not be chasing my parents' murderer around the globe like a glorified bounty hunter.” Out of his peripheral vision, Tony noted Barnes huffing quietly in annoyance and fidgeting a little where he lay.

“Get to the point.” The man grumbled. The assassin still had that controlled look on his face, as though itching to let go and probably try to gut Tony where he stood, but he held it all back. Like he'd been trained to, no doubt.

Tony stopped pacing, eyeing him for a moment before cutting the crap on his end. “Where are the others? Hm? Wanda, Clint... Where did they all disappear to after miraculously escaping The Raft? I don't even need to ask to know that Wilson is probably glued to Cap's ass like the good lil' pup he is...”

That made Barnes' brow twitch and he looked like he was chewing on the inside of his lips in an effort to keep his composure. Tony gave him a few seconds to reply before he lost his patience, leaning both hands on the railing at the foot of the bed.

“You're in a lot of trouble here, so I'd start talking if I were you. Just sayin', if you cooperate now you can make this all a lot easier than it could be.” He looked straight into the man's ice blue eyes, resisting the instinct to back away and put a little more space between them. The last time Tony had come up against the guy without his suit on, he hadn't fared too well. This time, however, Barnes was lacking his most prominent metal weapon and was securely chained down. What was the guy gonna do?

The assassin stewed for a while longer, but the hard resolve to his face was beginning to chip away a little.

“Where are Wanda, Clint, Wilson and your ol' buddy hiding out?” Tony pressed, tightening his grip on the metal bar against his palms.

“...I don't know.” Barnes finally answered, stiff and reluctant. He looked away again, this time out of the wall of windows toward the city skyline. A bird swooped by outside the open window, singing happily to itself.

Tony's face flickered with a show of irritation before he collected himself, distractedly scratching at the back of his neck to try and force away the tide of anger threatening to rise up again.

“Why do you think I'm talkin' to you right now? Why do you think I haven't beaten you to a pulp for what you did to Vision? You're lying right there, you couldn't stop me.” Tony bit out, gesturing at the man who didn't even blink in response. “'Cause I want to be able to start tidying this whole mess up that you, that Rogers, that Wanda all started.” He continued, watching Barnes' unresponsive profile that was deliberately ignoring him. “And because I want to stop any more lives from being lost!” Tony finally snapped, slamming his hand back down onto the railing.

The bed jostled slightly but Barnes continued to blank him. Tony was gearing himself up to try again, contemplating adorning his suit for round two, when the assassin finally cracked, just a quiet voice.

“Last thing I heard they'd all gone off the radar, trying to keep themselves safe from _you_.”

Momentary relief rushed through Tony's body at the knowledge that his old friends were somewhat okay. Even though they weren't his friends anymore, he promptly reminded himself. He stamped down on the thought and focused on the interrogation currently underway instead.

“And? You gotta do better than that. I'm tryin' here, this is a two-way street – you have to give me somethin' back.”

Barnes ducked his head now, staring down at the shape of his body under the blankets. “I don't know where any of them are.” He grumbled, a note of resentment chasing the reluctance in his tone.

Tony huffed, unimpressed. “What about T'Challa? We never recovered his bike. I figure you guys are the best of friends now, don't tell me you don't know where he slunk off to to lick his wounds.” Tony pushed off of the bedframe, resuming his pacing while keeping his eyes on Barnes. The man looked up at that comment, his gaze as sharp as a knife.

_Beep, beep, beep, beep -_

Barnes took a deep breath in through his nose, and when it released his tense shoulders sagged a little. He swallowed, settling into a brooding silence. It seemed he was done talking.

“Alright,” Tony'd had enough of this, too. He broke their eye contact, no matter how wild and intimidating Barnes looked with his hair in his face and his jaw flexing like a lion about to strike. “Clearly you're not gonna play along, but before you're locked up for the next century...” He plucked his phone from the inside pocket of his jacket, tapping on a few holographic keys. “I wanna know about this.”

Tony pulled out the image on screen so that it hovered in the air above the small device. Barnes' frown deepened, his eyes grew wide and his mouth fell open slightly in confused, horrified shock: floating in the air between the two men, rotating slowly around, was the 3D scan of one severed, metal arm.

_Beep beep beep beep beep beep -_

“What the hell...?” Barnes growled, his face turning sour with disgust as he looked away from the projection of his own lost prosthetic, furious eyes scalding into Tony's own. “You _kept_ it...?” He seemed to struggle to get the words out at all through a failing attempt to hide his burst of emotion from prying eyes.

Tony had to admit, it was a pretty satisfying feeling. His chest puffed out a little at this minor victory, even as the burn of hatred for James Barnes settled deeper in his core. It was about time Tony got one up on him.

“I want to know how it works.” He didn't beat about the bush this time, keeping the rotating hologram in clear sight for Barnes to see.

“ _What?_ ” The man narrowed his eyes at him in either revulsion or perplexity, Tony couldn't quite make out which. He decided to change tactic.

“Y'know, in that Hydra treasure trove you left me in to rot two years ago...” He set off pacing again, the floating, transparent arm coming along with him, “...I couldn't find one _scrap_ of information on how you happened to acquire one of the most technologically advanced prosthetics in the world. Wouldn't you say that's weird...? I mean – they kept you in that place, they made five _more_ of you in that place, you'd think there would be something telling of this kind of thing. _I_ think it's weird.” He nodded toward the hologram in his hand.

Barnes' expression fell with each word until he was looking up at Tony from under a low, furrowed brow. “What are you planning to do with -”

“Nothing. I'm not planning to do anything with it. Honestly. It just tickles me as odd that during the 1940s Hydra somehow managed to make _this,_ ” Tony's eyes trailed from the jagged edge of the scanned arm towards the empty sleeve of the hospital gown under Barnes' left shoulder. “...a fully functioning, practically indestructible weapon.”

His eyes lingered on the space where the defining prosthetic used to be, his brain going a mile a minute at the possibilities that were _just_ out of reach of his brilliant mind. It was a damn infuriating taunt, to say the least.

The heat of the assassin's glare on his face drew his eyes back up to that icy gaze. Tony flicked off the hologram, tucking his phone back inside his jacket pocket. “What is it even made of? My lab couldn't dig up an accurate reading. How did you control it? Brainwaves? A microchip? Was it attached to your spine?”

Barnes looked ready to spit at him. “How do you control your Iron suit?” He challenged.

“Ah – no, that's completely different. I put the suit _on,_ it isn't embedded into my skin, my tissue, my nerves...” Tony found himself rambling, and decided that the man in front of him probably couldn't keep up if he got into the science of it. “I just wanna know how they did it. Then you can look forward to a life sentence in solitude to sit in silence for as long as you want.”

Barnes' eyes darkened. “I can't help you. You should get out.” He turned away again, listlessly searching the stunning view outside the windows.

And the realisation finally hit, so obvious that a genius like Tony Stark had no excuse for not noticing it earlier. He scoffed, placing his hands on his hips.

“You don't even know, do you?”

_Beep, beep, beep, beep -_

“Because why would you know? You were just the rabid dog Hydra let off the leash after all.”

Barnes didn't react, just continued his amble search of the city's skyscrapers as though his salvation might be written there. Tony felt his blood thumping through his veins, all of the pent up grief and fury of the last two years, of his whole adult life since his parents' death, stampeding through him now.

This was the killer of Tony's parents, the man who'd ruined his life. It was because of The Winter Soldier that Tony had been forced to face most of his life without anyone who'd truly loved him; that he'd never had the satisfaction of finally making his father proud; that most of his closest friends in the world had abandoned him; and that the only two remaining were now partially paralysed back in the States and lying downstairs in a coma!

The mess that was currently Tony's life all came down to this one man. It was all his fault.

Suddenly furious, Tony made no effort to hide the pain in his heart as he hissed through the harsh, thin line of his lips. “How do you do it? How do you get up in the morning knowing what you've done?” His whole body felt like a trembling stick of dynamite burning steadily down to the wick.

The murderer looked like he was maybe trying to work out what to say before deciding on nothing at all, not even turning away from the window.

“You've killed _so many_ innocent people! You even got Captain America and the King of Wakanda to fight for you?!” He was practically shaking where he stood, egged on by Barnes' utter lack of reaction.

Like he couldn't even give a crap.

“We're gonna find them.” Tony vowed, the tremor making its way into his voice, also. “And when we do, you're all goin' down.”

And with that, Tony turned and stormed out, leaving the hospital room, the ruthless killer, and the rapid trilling of the heart monitor behind.

  
  


Bucky didn't move for a long few seconds, just continued to watch the view stretching away beyond the hospital building with unseeing eyes. Flashes of his nightmare and the after-image of his holographic severed arm swam before his eyes, Stark's words winding ever deeper into his consciousness like an echo off the walls.

When Bucky finally drew in a quivering breath he let it out long and slow, making himself sink as deeply into the bed as the mattress would allow.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


The Hong Kong skyline glinted orange in the setting sun, drawing long shadows across the room as the only clear passage of time. Bucky lay as still as he could and focused on the patten slowly stretching over his sheets, trying to distract himself from the tightness in his chest that refused to go away.

If only he had a way to warn Steve that Stark was still searching for him, that he was hot on his trail and didn't seem to be giving up the hunt any time soon.

Stark was right about Bucky, he knew that, and he couldn't find it in himself to hate the man for the way he felt toward his parents' murderer. But the thought that Bucky himself could possibly have fed Steve, and Sam Wilson, T'Challa, and the other brave heroes who'd tried to help them back in Leipzig to the same people coming for him now... _that_ was killing him slowly, driving deeper with every inch the shadows crawled.

With every passing second where nothing happened – nobody arrived to drag him away, no gunshots were fired, no evacuation alarms were ushered declaring an attack on the building – he found himself wishing that it would just start so that it could be over. He was a man condemned; condemned to being taken into custody, and to having to live with the truth of all he'd done for the remainder of his days, however long – or short – that turned out to be.

Through the open door to the corridor outside, Bucky could see a sliver of a guard flanking each side of the entrance and whenever one would shift their stance the familiar click of a gun made itself known to his trained ears. Who knew how many armed guards were standing watch over the formidable Winter Soldier? He decided he didn't want to know, and instead buried himself deeply into the mattress once again.

There was nothing he could do for himself now. Hiding seemed like the best option.

After more long, tense minutes of waiting for his impending arrest, adrenaline suddenly shot through his system as a dull _thunk_ came from nearby in the corridor outside, then the unmistakable sound of a body collapsing to the ground, hard.

Bucky jolted up as far as the manacle around his wrist would allow, alert and straining against the cuff as he witnessed the second guard yell in angry surprise, then keel over before he even had a chance to raise his weapon upon his attacker.

It had been a stealthy take down, without the aid of one bullet. Whoever was outside knew what they were doing, and there was no doubt who they were coming for...

He was caught between wondering whether it was a rescue or a kidnap, straining his ears to give himself some clues as the intruder outside approached his room: quiet footsteps – light and practised, a woman by the sounds of it – dashed any initial hope of it being Steve coming to his aid.

Bucky found himself more scared than he thought he'd be when faced with the moment he was snatched back into enemy clutches. He scrabbled back against the bed with his eyes wide and fixated on the empty doorway, dreading catching a glimpse of his latest captor. His feet slipped infuriatingly on the clean sheets, his wrist aching as he futilely attempted to wrestle it free of its confines.

But he was trapped, and there was no way out.

Above his soaring panic, Bucky just managed to make sense of the figure slipping in through the doorway before the terror overcame him. His breath escaped in a short sigh of relief and confusion, his veins throbbing painfully with the lingering buzz of fear.

“You...?” He asked breathlessly.

The woman glanced all around the room, obviously checking for any other dangers as she approached the bed, still crouching to minimize her presence to unwanted eyes. She wore an unremarkable gym bag over one shoulder, her hair back in a ponytail, and had at least one gun on her person, though it didn't look like it had been used. If the way she was still panting slightly was any indication though, she might have taken down every one of Stark's people in this wing of the hospital.

The woman met his gaze once she reached his side, not appearing at all intimidated as she spoke quickly in a hushed voice. “I don't think we've been properly introduced; I'm Sharon Carter, I've been working with Captain Rogers. I'm here to help.”

Almost dizzy with the shocking turn of events, Bucky was struck with an odd sense of awe. “Bucky.” He introduced himself stupidly, then noticed she was pulling some sort of small adhesive device from a hidden pocket in her jacket.

Sharon Carter scoffed shortly, the kindest impression of a laugh. “I know.” She met his eyes again before focusing her attention on attaching the little gadget to the thick, smooth surface of the manacle. “Now hold still, and hopefully this'll only sting.”

She spoke with a sense of urgency, telling that they had little time on their hands. Perhaps enemy reinforcements were coming, and Bucky had no intention of remaining here when he'd been offered the chance of freedom.

“Be careful – it's kinda the only arm I got.” He said instead, and watched as Sharon tapped a little button then shielded her face as though bracing for an explosion.

Bucky held his breath, squeezing his eyes closed just as a flash and muffled _bang!_ caused a bout of prickling heat to wash over his hand. When he gained the courage to check the damage, he saw that a thick wedge of the handcuff had been cut out, leaving a much thinner, more manageable restraint.

Wasting no time, he wrenched his arm free, shattering the broken metal and separating himself from the railing. Amazed, Bucky trailed his gaze from his chafed wrist up to the face of the woman who'd released him.

“Thanks.” He flexed his hand, glad to be able to do so again.

“Thank me later, we still need to get outta here. I have a van a few blocks over – we should get going.” Sharon paced briskly to the large windows, peering down at the steep drop to the street below.

Bucky swung his legs off the side of the bed then hesitated slightly, now that the current events were catching up with him a little more. She _had_ freed him, but he found the sense to ask, “Steve sent you?”

Sharon leaned on her tip toes, assessing their escape route from the high vantage point of the windows. “He actually doesn't know I'm here, our last contact was two days ago.” The city sounds swam hazily through the open window until she closed it over and locked it in place.

Bucky thought for a moment, his brow crinkling slightly in question. “You know where he is...?” He asked dubiously, unsure whether or not to blindly put his faith in the timely arrival of this woman.

Sharon turned and looked at him over her shoulder, her ponytail flicking with the movement. “Yeah. And I can take you right to him.” She crossed the room again until she stood at his bedside, keeping her weight on her toes in her eagerness to get going.

Bucky looked up at her, hoping to finally receive the answer to his burning question. “Where is he?”

Sharon took a moment, and he could see her considering telling him the truth or not. “He's here. Outside the city. I can't tell you any more than that right now, so you're just going to have to trust me.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, challenging him with an open, honest expression that made him truly believe she wanted to help him. The last time he'd seen her she had been an ally, and both then and now she had risked her own safety to offer assistance in a time of need. A lot could happen in two years, of course, allegiances changed... but she was the only profitable resource Bucky had in finding his way back to his friend.

“Alright.” He relented, trying not to look as unsure on the outside as he felt on the inside. Sharon accepted his decision with a slow, single nod of her head.

“Here.” She tugged the gym bag off her shoulder and tossed it onto the bed. “Put these on, then we really need to move.”

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


_Clip clop, clip clop_

Tiny kitten heels walked smartly down the corridor, pushing a wheelchair that housed a bulky patient huddled awkwardly into himself. The female nurse walked casually, though her perceptive eyes tracked the entire immediate vicinity; every ward they passed, every hospital employee bustling by to get to their next destination, every ring of a telephone.

Nobody paid them any attention, and Sharon and Bucky made it down another corridor without the slightest hiccup. Even so, he was constantly fighting to resist the urge to draw his tattered cap even further down his face or to hide entirely beneath the musty clothes she'd given him.

The strict march of approaching company announced a squad of men, entirely intimidating and entirely conspicuous as they rounded the corner ahead and continued on in the direction Bucky and Sharon had just come from. For obvious government agents sent to keep an eye on him, not one of the six of them noticed Bucky in the wheelchair as he skimmed right past without earning so much as a glance. He kept a mental tab on the agents until they'd disappeared again around another corner.

Bucky scowled to himself, fidgeting a little in his seat. “We don't have long. Can you go any faster?” He muttered, only loud enough that Sharon would be able to hear him.

“The elevator is down the next corridor on the right. D'you think we can make that before they realise you're missing?” It was a rhetorical question, one Sharon answered herself by picking up her pace, just enough to avoid suspicion.

It wasn't difficult to assume that squad were sent to take him into CIA custody – a fate Bucky had just very narrowly avoided. He knew he had only Sharon to thank for that, whether or not she really could reconnect him with Steve. It was difficult, to instil trust upon someone who was practically a stranger to him, but it was also reassuring to know that, at least for now, he wasn't in this thing alone.

Not for the first time he wondered what had become of T'Challa, and if he'd made it to safety okay.

Snapping himself out of the thought, Bucky remained aware of their surroundings. With his ears strained for the tiniest of sounds, his whole body suddenly seized up in fear when Sharon's breath hitched from above his head. She stopped the wheelchair dead in its tracks.

The next moment, he realised why.

Tony Stark was standing halfway down the corridor, between them and the elevator. Bucky's heart plummeted, as their easy escape route had just become compromised. And with that hoard of government agents stalking toward his empty room, there would be no time to double back and find another exit.

Stark hadn't seen them yet, but soon enough the word would spread and every agent in the place would be on red alert searching for the missing fugitive in their midst.

Bucky closed his eyes in defeat, bowing his head in grave acceptance of what was about to happen next: he was going to be caught, and he was going to be locked away for a long time, but Stark and his guys didn't know that he wasn't working alone on his escape plan.

Sharon didn't have to get captured.

She also claimed to know where Steve and Sam Wilson currently were, and she was Bucky's best hope at sending them a warning to get themselves to safety. He was about to turn and voice his thoughts aloud when the sudden jostle of the wheelchair rocking back into motion caused him to freeze in confusion.

They were moving slowly, creeping toward Stark with Sharon's bravely determined gaze fixed on the man's profile. She was going for it, Bucky realised, and he dug his fingers painfully into the armrest of the wheelchair in protest.

“Stop.” He whispered, clutching so tightly that if he'd had his metal hand the chair would have splintered beneath his grip. She didn't heed his warning, just continued to wheel him ever closer to Tony Stark. “ _Stop!_ ” Bucky hissed, a little desperately this time, unable to do anything but let it happen without surely giving them away.

Sharon straightened her posture, standing tall and speeding back up to a normal pace. Her tiny heels clipped off the polished floor, sending jolts of panic through Bucky's nerves with each too-loud sound. He tensed further but didn't dare move, keeping his head down but eyes on Stark as the man grew dangerously closer.

Heart racing and instincts screaming at him to turn back, Bucky allowed Sharon to push him directly into a path that would lead them right by the one man they were trying to avoid.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


“Mr Stark, the chopper just arrived.”

Tony looked up from his phone, blinking away the after image of Barnes' scanned metal arm that he'd practically embedded into his retinas by now. He nodded in understanding, remembering his manners a little belatedly. “Thanks.”

It had been one hell of a day, and not to mention his escapade in Wakanda before that – Tony was exhausted, and running on coffee alone sometimes just wasn't enough. Sometimes. He drained the bottom of his lukewarm styrofoam cup.

God, Barnes had gotten under his skin again, even when Tony had been determined not to let him. Maybe he'd overestimated his resolve when it came to the man who'd murdered his parents.

Tony was also running on very little sleep and facing a long flight home with the assassin trapped in an enclosed space with him. Maybe he would just take his suit home and fly behind, despite how badly he'd been counting on resting in the plane by Vision's bedside. He wasn't likely to catch any sleep when in close proximity to Barnes anyway, he figured. And the flight might be good for him to work off some of the prickling anger still snapping at his heels from their last encounter.

Throwing the empty cup down the hall and right into the trash can, Tony scrubbed his hands over his face in an effort to wipe away the stubborn loop of watching Vision collapsing onto the road from his memory, then focused on his watch before turning back to the man addressing him. “Alright, we'll move Vis first, get him secure, then load up Little Miss Sunshine back there. And I want a _full_ team on Barnes, he is _not_ slipping out of this one!” He clarified.

“'Little Miss Sunshine' – aha! That's a good one! No, really! The _irony!_ I _love_ it!” The thin bald assistant beside Tony exclaimed, chuckling, then snapping out of it upon Tony's impatient eye. “Right, full team. Already on it. But what about you? You need anything else? Another coffee? A sedative, perhaps?” He continued, firing word after word right into Tony's already stinging brain.

“Don't tempt me.” He growled, rubbing at his temples. He failed to remember who thought it would be a good idea to hire this guy.

Things were only going to become more hectic for a while after this, he knew: a part of Tony was still holding out for Rogers to bound in and try to save the day, but they'd already had Barnes for almost 8 hours and there hadn't been a peep to suggest his BFF was on his way. Which was, admittedly, disappointing, but barring that there would still have to be court hearings, trails, lawyers, press conferences. Discussions on who gets Barnes, what sentence he'll face, what Tony was thinking breaching the Accords in Wakanda and what charges _he'll_ face for that, not to mention the mess they just made of the Hong Kong freeway... If he thought about it too much the whole thing would choke him, so Tony cleverly decided to just not think at all.

He allowed himself a rare moment to just close his eyes and breathe, to take in the background hubbub of the hospital behind the beeping machines and wailing patients; just the calming bubble of the water cooler, the office-like trill of a landline telephone – who knew _those_ still existed. He listened to the attractive _clip clop_ of a woman in heels, gorgeous of course – red, no, _black_ hair – waist length, curly. Her heels so high she's practically on stilts, and her skirt so tight that when she walks, _everybody_ looks.

Tony hummed thoughtfully to himself, impressed with his own method of distraction, and opened his eyes to follow the sound of the heels passing behind his back. He turned to see his gorgeous, stilettoed, black haired Aphrodite, and instead saw only a nurse in pale green scrubs, pushing some poor sucker on a wheelchair. She was blond, which was never a bad thing at least, and the unflattering cut of the scrubs didn't do enough to hide her obvious figure. Tony watched her walk away until his bald associate coughed timidly and dragged his attention back to reality.

“So... that's a ' _no_ ' on the sedative...?”

“Let's just focus on getting Vision and Barnes outta here, I'll be fine.”

The guy scampered away with a furtive nod. Tony longed for some aspirin, but decided he really could wait until the two most important people of today's events were securely holed up in the plane on the way back to the States.

He was just turning around to head back toward Vision's room when something sort of... _clicked_ in his brain. As tired as he was, it took Tony a moment to register what it was he was contemplating, and it took him even longer to actually do a double take after the blond nurse and the guy in the wheelchair.

That poor sucker had _almost_ looked like...

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


Bucky could feel himself leaning forward in the wheelchair, as if doing so would encourage it to move just _that_ bit faster. His whole body was hollow with disbelief, that they'd managed to just _walk past_ Tony Stark, and he felt a new rush of gratitude toward Sharon Carter. Clearly she knew what she was doing.

He reminded himself to wonder how she'd ever got involved, what she was still hanging around for and what she'd really been doing with Steve and Wilson these past two years, but now was not the time. Now was the time to be wheeled toward the elevator doors that _pinged!_ open just a few short feet ahead of them.

Then, “BARNES!”

“Go!” Sharon told him sharply as she released her hold on the wheelchair. Bucky leapt up to his feet, not needing to be told twice, and the pair of them bolted for the newly vacated elevator with a furious Tony Stark running down the corridor after them. Bucky slammed his fist against the button for the ground floor.

Breathing rapidly, he felt a growing pool of shame in the pit of his stomach when he met eyes with Stark as they awaited the elevator to begin its descent.

A part of Bucky felt that escaping was maybe the wrong thing to do – he _had_ murdered countless people, and in due course he knew he would have to own up to that. Then watching the rage, the despair, and the disgust ripple over Stark's tired face as he witnessed the murderer run away to save himself... it felt like Stark was physically drawing a knife from Bucky's spleen to his throat. Yet he couldn't tear his gaze away, remembering the look he'd created in Stark's eyes back in Siberia, remembering all the awful things the man had said about him, and knowing he was _right._

Bucky felt like he might be sick.

But then the doors closed, cutting off the hospital and Tony Stark's anguished face, helping him to remember that he wasn't just running away – he was trying to help his friends. This wasn't about Bucky's self-preservation.

Even so, he backed into the cool wall of the elevator and rested his head against it for a brief moment of respite before the fight chased them further. His breath rattled in and out of his lungs, trembling like the state of his hand curled under the sleeve of his borrowed hoodie.

“You alright?” Sharon Carter's voice was soothing against the rush of blood in his ears, and Bucky swallowed down the lump in his throat before opening his eyes. She was in the process of tearing off the stolen scrubs from atop her tactical gear, and she was watching him. There was a curt but sympathetic look ready to take over her features, and the sight of someone _not_ glaring at him with murderous intent gave him the courage to straighten up again.

“Yeah.” He grumbled, breaking their eye contact and feeling naked without the trusty weight of his left arm. But he wasn't looking for a battle, and hoped that he wouldn't be needing any weapons from here on out.

Nobody else needed to get hurt.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The brief description of torture is in a nightmare Bucky has in the first few paragraphs of the chapter, so please tread lightly if you need to there but hopefully it's not too gruesome and I left it kind of vague. It involves his metal arm and the pain he experienced while Hydra were attaching it to his body.
> 
> I also want to say that while I'm actually not a huge fan of Sharon Carter I feel like a lot of it is down to the poor portrayal of her character as kind of the pointless afterthought love interest, so if you're not a Sharon Carter fan – fear not! I'm going for the 'capable agent, able to showcase her skills and actually useful to propel the plot' angle for her in this fic instead of 'just there to give Steve the goo-goo eyes', which I think will do wonders to shape her into a more interesting character. Just trust me on this, okay? :)
> 
> And did anyone recognise the 'thin bald assistant' talking to Tony at the end there? No? I just thought the guy trying to pitch the self-heating hot dog idea to Tony in Civil War was too funny not to sneak in somewhere, and so there he is! Well done if anyone noticed, and if not then he's just a lil' easter egg for me xP
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, I know it wasn't as huge and action-packed as the last one but there'll still be plenty more of that to come in future updates :)
> 
> Thanks for reading! x


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so relieved to finally get to update this story! I'd hoped to update much sooner than this but unfortunately uni work has been keeping me far too busy to do much writing lately, but I'm pleased I can finally get this chapter up before Christmas! x) I'm sorry for the delay again between updates, I hope you can forgive me for taking a while and accept this chapter as an early present for the holidays!
> 
> Warning for some sensitive content in this chapter, which I'll put here instead of in the end notes because I don't want anyone to not be prepared going in: near the start there is some shooting of guns into a crowded civilian street, however Tony is there to make sure nobody gets hurt. Still, people are scared for their lives and must run away to safety.
> 
> And with that, I hope you enjoy this next chapter and are ready for some answers to some questions you guys have been asking in the comments, and maybe a special appearance or two...

 

The duo burst out into the Hong Kong street, looking around at the towering skyscrapers on all sides in an attempt to get their bearings. Sharon started running, calling Bucky after her with a wave of her arm.

“This way!”

She led them across the street, dodging cars after clearing the parking lot of the hospital. The wind whipped past Bucky's face and through his long hair, whisking away some of the crawling guilt from his skin now that he was moving again. He had a purpose, a reason to get out of this place, and he focused on that and leaving the hospital behind them. They only had minutes, at most, to disappear.

He kept his eyes on Sharon's swishing ponytail, attempting not to barrel into civilians in his haste to keep up. She was _fast,_ faster than he'd been expecting, and another part of Bucky began to believe that she truly was an agent skilled in the arts; if her freeing him from his restraints hadn't been enough incentive for his judgement already.

Sharon twisted around to make sure he was still with her, pointing her finger toward a street coming up ahead. “We just need to make it to –”

Sudden _'ooh's_ and ' _ahh_ 's picked up around them and drowned out her voice, signifying that something was happening behind them. When Bucky looked around, an airborne Iron Man arrived out of nowhere. The civilians on the street were filming and taking pictures of The Iron Man, finding joy in the situation, but Stark had already managed to pin-point his wanted fugitive amidst the dense crowd and was coming in hot.

There was no time to hide, not even to run another step before the suit was hovering up above the street with that same lifeless mask glaring down at Bucky. “You better quit tryin' to run! If you won't come in then I'm gonna have to make this as painful as possible! And I'm gonna enjoy it.” Stark threatened, holding up his hands with the palms glowing in warning.

Bucky _really_ didn't want to be blasted by them again, but before he could even decide what to do or say in retaliation Sharon reappeared at his side. He watched in surprise as she situated herself in between him and Stark's metal death stare, blocking Bucky from any danger.

“You don't have to do this here. You don't _understand –_ ” She tried.

“I understand perfectly.” Stark spat, ignoring the phones and excited faces pointed his way. “He's a murderer, and you're no better by trying to help him. ...Weren't you supposed to be one of Ross' lap dogs?” Stark kept those ruthless hand blasters trained on them, though it was an empty threat.

“Oh come on; you would never endanger civilian lives by starting a firefight right here in the street.” Sharon called his bluff, her voice fluttering with scathing disapproval as she stepped closer toward their floating opponent. Bucky felt shameful hiding behind her, but focused his efforts instead on shielding his face from the cameras of the civilians crowding as close as they dared in an attempt to catch a glimpse of them.

He chanced a look up from under the brim of his cap, into the steely eyes of Stark's mask as he waited for the man to either attack or relent. While the mask itself remained unfaltering, judging by the lack of action on Stark's part it seemed he was processing Sharon's words. Bucky couldn't deny the buzz of hope rising in his chest that all wasn't over just yet.

He could have sworn he saw Stark's armoured hands lower just an inch –

And then suddenly Bucky cried out as a stabbing fiery pain bit into his side, taking him off guard. He clutched at his burning ribs with his one hand, aware of a ripple running through the crowd around him and a ringing in his ears that took just a little too long to place.

A gunshot.

Bucky looked round in the direction the shot had come from, staring through watering eyes at the squad of burly CIA agents all dressed in black that he and Sharon had passed back in the hospital. There were more of them now and all of them were armed, advancing from the parking lot with guns raised.

Bucky's instincts flared and he grabbed Sharon, pulling her down to the ground with him just in time to avoid another bullet aimed their way. Above them, Stark wheeled about in the air for the source of the shooting, seeming to forget about Bucky altogether.

“Nope! Nonononono...!” His iron boots rumbled as he propelled himself away over the crowd toward the clearly _not_ CIA agents.

Everything turned to chaos within seconds – gasps and screams piped up when the civilians began to realise what was happening, and then the crowd was dispersing like water down a drain as everyone ran for cover from the danger breaking out around them.

Bucky gasped in pain, gaining the courage to look down at the damage searing into his ribs; his hand came away red but the wound didn't look too bad – he'd dealt with a hell of a lot worse before. He then directed his attention to what was happening around him, the pain spreading out from his ribs and into his chest at the sight.

The scene was unfolding like one of his nightmares come to life; people scared and in danger because of him. He felt like his legs were about to give way as all he could do was watch them panic and flee in all directions, while Iron Man soared above them in an attempt to fix the damage. The assassins rounded some of their ammo on Stark, and that was the last Bucky saw of it before he kicked himself into gear and ran.

He grabbed Sharon by the arm and pushed her ahead of him without looking back, focusing again on the flicking blond ponytail to guide him. Clearly the assassins were after him, and they didn't seem to care who got caught in the crossfire. He felt like a glaring target amongst all these poor, terrified civilians who were only trying to escape the mess he'd made.

Wincing at the burn from his bleeding ribs, Bucky fought against the current of the crowd to separate himself from the innocents at risk before he could cause any more damage. Sharon was dragging him along behind her now and Bucky let her tug and guide him, dizzy with the flurry of commotion ongoing around them

“I never meant for –” Bucky stuttered, struggling to find his voice as he stared at the carnage spilling over the Hong Kong street with wide, distraught eyes.

“I know, neither did I. But we need to –” Together, he and Sharon yelped under the sudden fountain of spray from a punctured fire hydrant, another bullet having skimmed right past their position. “We need to get you out of here!” Sharon finished.

“What about these people?”

“They're only a target because of you! We have to _move!_ ” She replied, and Bucky didn't like the awful twist in his gut at those words. Or the fact that they were true. He didn't argue any further. She was right: the longer Bucky stayed here the more people were going to get hurt, and that was the last thing he wanted.

Bucky tried not to hear the battle in the distance behind them, but the bang of a gun was indisputable to the man who knew them better than most other people alive. Bucky could hear Stark working like crazy to subdue the assailants, the burning _pew!_ of his repulsors against trained, armed assassins. He couldn't risk turning to see who was coming out on top.

“Here!”

When Sharon dived for cover, skidding to a stop behind a red car parked at the sidewalk, Bucky followed her lead. He dropped down behind the tire, grunting at the tug on his injured ribs and pressing his palm against the wound again. He grit his teeth until the pain ebbed away slightly, cursing his lack of weaponry now that it turned out he needed it after all.

Sharon appeared in front of him, her ponytail loose now and her bangs hanging dishevelled beside her face, but her expression was one of determination as she batted his hand away to check the damage.

“It's just a graze.” Bucky assured her, looking down at the bloody rip in the fabric of his hoodie and the red glistening on his skin beneath. It wasn't fatal.

Sharon looked appeased and hurried down to the other end of the car to crouch there. She pulled her gun free and glared over the hood in the direction of the assassins, while Bucky took a moment to breathe and pull himself together.

If he thought he'd had a problem with Tony Stark, it was nothing compared to the way these assassins made the hair at the back of his neck stand on end. Whether it was the fact that they'd opened fire regardless of the civilians in their path, or the cold, calculated way they moved in a practised formation, it was causing a sickening feeling to grow heavily in his gut. One that reminded him of captivity, of being a prisoner, of helplessness.

When he'd been waiting in that room for whatever Stark had in store for him, these assassins had infiltrated the hospital with ease and had been making their way right to him. Would Bucky have even known they weren't CIA if they _had_ reached him in time? Where would he be right now if Sharon hadn't shown up when she did and helped him escape? Would they have taken him away, or would they just have killed him right there? Bucky shivered at the near miss, knowing it was only down to Sharon Carter that he'd avoided that fate.

He turned his head to watch her as she shot back at the assassins with careful precision. Bucky made himself chance a peek around his side of the car to see what was happening out there.

The street was mostly cleared of civilians now, and he could see Tony Stark distantly juggling the responsibilities of escorting people out of harms way while also scrambling after the shooters and deflecting their attacks. He was managing to keep them mostly distracted, but a few rounds still slipped past Stark despite his best efforts to stop them: bullets pinged off the hood of the car Bucky and Sharon were hiding behind, causing them both to duck back behind the vehicle for a moment where Sharon reloaded her gun.

Bucky peered carefully out again, watching Stark flying through the sky in a streak of red and gold while trying to ignore the hollowed out feeling building in his chest; Stark was saving lives, not drawing fire into his human shields in a bid to run away. He'd even let up on his hunt for Bucky in order to put civilian safety above his own personal quest for revenge, the way a real hero would. Because he _was_ a real hero. And Bucky was a murderer.

“That ferry is our way out of here.” Sharon said, drawing Bucky's attention to where she nodded her head. There was a bridge nearby, where he could see down below that the ferry was loading terrified passengers on board, filling up to maximum capacity before ushering them away to safety down river. It looked like their best bet.

Bucky pointedly reminded himself that he was doing this for Steve, not just for his own selfish self-preservation. It made watching the poor civilians flee ever so slightly less painful on his conscience.

“That's if we can get there without being shot. Again.” He grumbled in response, gingerly pressing against his bleeding ribs. As if on cue – another bullet pinged off the car and one whizzed by dangerously close to Bucky's head.

His back slammed against the tire as he ducked back into cover and the wall of the building behind him cracked, the bullet embedding itself there. Bucky stared after it, something peculiar piquing his Soldier's instincts like a bloodhound picking up the trail of a fox.

Something was glinting from the bullet hole in the wall, then a thin liquid began to trickle out and ooze down the sandy stone, shimmering a translucent shade of green. Bucky swallowed thickly.

That wasn't just a regular bullet. It was chemical, maybe a poison of some kind, but most likely filled with a sedative intended to take down a regenerative super soldier. The shot would hurt, but whoever was hunting the Winter Soldier, they wanted him alive.

Bucky clenched his jaw tightly. He didn't want to _run_. He didn't want to be responsible for more casualties, his hands already dripping with the blood of so many people, and he most definitely didn't want to end up as someone else's prisoner. Not ever again.

He felt his face grow hot in anger.

“Give me a gun.” He called to Sharon, who fired a few more times over the hood of the car.

“No, you're staying put.” She ordered without taking her eyes off her targets to look at him.

“I can help!”

“I don't need your help, I need you to stay alive.” She said with no room for argument, and Bucky's muscles tensed irritably with the need to unleash this fiery energy bubbling up inside. He glowered darkly at the shooters out there, studying the heroic flash of red and gold fending them off and knowing that this was his fault.

His fingers twitched, impatient.

And then Bucky's practised eyes noticed movement nearby – much closer than the fight carrying on with Stark. A lone man in a black suit, carrying a gun and strategically making his way toward Bucky and Sharon's location behind the cover of other parked vehicles. One of the assassins; having managed to slip by Stark unnoticed and thinking he could catch himself a soldier.

Bucky's fingers twitched again, his brow pulling low into a determined line.

He glanced sideways at Sharon but her attention was held elsewhere – she hadn't noticed the approaching assassin. They were sitting ducks in this position, pinned down by the buildings on one side and the shooters on the other. The bridge was a means of escape, but without cover it was unlikely they would make it in one piece. Sharon was fast, but not _that_ fast, enough to keep up with a super soldier at full speed.

The gun in the assassin's hand made his skin crawl at the thought of that peculiar green substance, but in his compromised position and with no weapon of his own, Bucky had no means of getting close enough to put the guy out of action. He needed to lure him away, somewhere he could even the playing field.

He cast his gaze around, finally landing on a side street a short distance away that looked promising. A market selling street food, hastily abandoned and rich with plenty of places to hide between the cramped stalls and tables. Bucky's eyes flicked between the empty market and Sharon, who was still busy trying to save both their necks from the other end of the car.

He wasn't the only one in danger here.

Bucky blew out a low breath, eyeing the assassin gaining on their position. Another minute and he'd be upon them, and all of this would have been for nothing. So instead of waiting any longer, Bucky bolted out from behind the car and made a dash for the market as fast as his legs could carry him, making sure the assassin saw him disappear into the depths of the other street.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


Bucky could smell the rich scent of food from the abandoned stalls, tangy and tantalizing with thick steam clouding the air around him. Separated now from the main street, things were suddenly much quieter and easier to focus on, and this new playground was rife with the tools he needed for this particular fight: plenty of cover amongst the little tables all crowded together, and at least a dozen kitchen knives in every direction he looked.

Bucky crouched down behind one of the stalls, making sure to conceal himself from view. He only had to wait a few seconds for footsteps to follow, and then the assassin tracking him waded into the tiny cramped maze of kitchenettes and away from the fight outside.

Bucky watched him like a cat: his gaze lingered on the gun in the man's hand – it looked bulky and heavy, reminiscent of a nail gun more than a pistol. He knew those chemical bullets were hiding inside, and didn't particularly want another close call with one again.

The shooter looked carefully around, searching for the Winter Soldier, then decided on a direction and quietly slipped away. Bucky waited just long enough so that he could barely hear the fading footfalls before he grabbed a kitchen knife off the nearest counter beside him and crept after him.

He moved on the balls of his feet, silent like the shadow he'd been trained to be as he followed behind the mysterious shooter, keeping hidden behind the tables he passed. It didn't take long for him to wind his way closer.

Bucky counted his heartbeat, revving up inside him like the roar of an engine as he waited for the moment to pounce on the man slowly approaching at the other side of the table. He tightened his grip on the knife, blew out a long silent breath, and then leapt out from his hiding place and tackled the assassin to the ground.

There was a strangled yell and a _BANG!_ of the gun amid the tussle – the bullet coming so close to Bucky's face that it knocked his cap right off his head. He responded instinctively, batting the weapon out of his opponent's hand and sending it skidding away somewhere out of sight. When the guy attempted to grab at his face – his hair, his eyes – Bucky pinned him to the ground with the kitchen knife, ignoring the garbled cry as blood pooled around the assassin's shoulder. Bucky's thighs clamped around the man's torso to keep him down and he used his only hand to bunch the fabric of the guy's collar, glaring down at him in anger.

Finally the assassin stopped struggling, staring up into Bucky's face in response. “Winter Soldier.” He said, rasping, and then Bucky noticed the foam emerging at the sides of his mouth. He jerked back, horrified and still angry as the assassin choked and spluttered out something unintelligible, then the body sagged in his grip, falling perfectly still.

Bucky continued to stare, his face falling in dawning fear that prickled up the back of his neck.

Cyanide.

He felt small suddenly, like his skin was shrinking and the air turned to ice around him. He wanted to back off, to run away and find Sharon and get the hell out of here. He felt suddenly vulnerable, more so than he had even when tied down to Stark's hospital bed. Like suddenly the world was much more vast than it had been minutes previously, like there were eyes everywhere, watching him.

Then Bucky realised it wasn't just fear but _instinct_ making him shiver and on high alert, and he looked up sharply toward a presence he felt more than saw, somewhere up ahead of him.

His body tensed when he saw him: a man in heavy-duty tac gear, with huge broad shoulders and a black helmet that concealed his face entirely, just standing there. Watching. Watching _Bucky_.

He could see the masked man was armed and had a clean line of sight, but made no move to shoot at his target. Bucky's chest heaved in adrenaline and the beginnings of confusion, as something that felt a little like recognition stirred at the very back of his mind. He couldn't place it, couldn't justify it, but somehow, it prevented him from moving also. Even though realistically he knew he should be rolling into cover... he didn't.

The masked man didn't react either, and the two of them just stared at each other across the market and through the steam drifting between them. Bucky squinted, trying to make out anything that could possibly identify the stranger more than this instinctual inkling inside, but before he could the masked man moved suddenly –

_BANG!_

Startled out of the moment, Bucky whipped around to see another of those assassins crumple to the floor. He'd been too distracted to even notice him sneaking up behind him, and then he saw Sharon Carter with her gun still raised at the place the body had just been standing.

Apparently she'd just saved his life again.

Bucky turned back to where the masked man had been, but there was no-one to be seen. He frowned to himself as he straightened up off the assassin's body still pinned beneath him, walking over to Sharon's side and giving her a grateful nod. She didn't look very pleased with him.

“Thanks.”

“What happened to staying alive? I didn't bust you out just so you could get yourself killed.” Sharon scolded sternly.

“There was someone...” Bucky glanced once more back over to the place where the masked man had disappeared.

Sharon turned to look with him, still holding her gun at the ready just in case. When she also saw no-one she asked, “Who?”

“I don't know...” Bucky grumbled, wrestling with the confused thoughts that were racing around inside his head for dominance. He remembered the way he'd felt just before, that this masked man wasn't like the others. That he was familiar, somehow. Bucky ran his hand restlessly through his hair as he glanced around for any sign that might possibly help him, and came up empty. “I thought it was...”

No, that was stupid. Besides, in all honesty the masked man was likely working with the other shooters. But what puzzled Bucky the most was why hadn't he taken a shot when he'd had the perfect opportunity? Unless he hadn't been here to hunt the Winter Soldier at all...?

“Thought it was who?” Sharon prompted, and Bucky was infinitely grateful that whatever she was expecting him to say, she seemed to believe him. He seriously considered telling her the truth then, before dismissing his own suspicions anyway.

“He wore a mask, it could have been anyone. I lost him.” Scowling, he looked down and caught sight of the assassin who'd taken the cyanide. He'd also lost the gun somewhere, he noted, and thought he should search the body and find out exactly who these guys were and who had sent them. But the dread sinking into his bones at the thought made him secretly relieved at what Sharon had to say next.

“We need to catch that ferry, we don't have much time.” Her hand closed around his arm and Bucky allowed her to lead him quickly away from the crime scene, down a side street and away toward the river.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


Tony was just finishing up with the shooters, having finally managed to clear the area of civilians so that he could concentrate all of his efforts on them instead. He was sweating and frustrated inside his iron suit, angry that these little bastards thought they could get away with starting a firefight in a street full of civilians.

Oh yeah, and those same little bastards had also caused him to lose Barnes _again_ , and that wasn't something Tony was going to be lenient over. Who else would get hurt now that the Winter Soldier was at large again? How many more Rhodeys would there be? How many more Visions? He cursed at the thought, making sure to blast the last shooter with a little more force than was necessary.

The guy crumpled to the ground, unconscious, like the rest of his friends.

Tony's shoulders sagged, now that the imminent danger had been dealt with. The street was practically deserted, with sirens growing louder in the distance and heading this way. Too late of course, as ever.

At least nobody had been seriously injured, he told himself, which would have only made a shit situation a whole lot worse. Plus, he could leave the shooters here to be picked up by his team and be done with it; Vision was still in the hospital, lying in an unresponsive coma and in need of transporting. Tony itched to get back to him, to get him home. If Tony hadn't been on such a quest for revenge then Vision wouldn't have been here, and he would still be functioning. Awake.

Tony shook himself out of his stupor, deciding it would do more harm than good right now to dive into that rabbit hole of 'what ifs'. He scanned his surroundings once more, just to be sure that was the last of the shooters. Grumbling, he counted 10 unconscious hostiles. It had sure seemed like more than that when he'd waded right into the firefight...

Just then he heard a _bang!_ from somewhere nearby, a side street by the sounds of it. Tony span around, his nerves alighting again as he jumped back into battle mode. “Friday, where we going?” He watched impatiently as his visor pinpointed the location of the sound, feeling his heart in his throat at the thought that he'd missed one of the shooters and somebody could have been hurt from his mistake.

“There.” Friday announced, and Tony wasted no time in flying toward the source of the gunshot.

He landed in an abandoned market street, with steam clouding the air and a jumble of little tables all over the place. The first thing Tony noticed were two bodies, both wearing those plain black suits he'd seen so much of in the last few minutes. He approached slowly, confirming in his visor that they were, indeed, dead.

Tony examined the closest one.

“Cyanide?” He wondered aloud, before turning to the second body. “This guy wasn't so inclined.” He avoided the pool of blood spilling from the man's torso. It seemed he'd been the victim of the gunshot Tony had heard, and he couldn't pretend he didn't feel a slight twinge of justice at that.

“That's the last of them, Boss.”

“Yeah.” Tony examined the rest of the market street now, his eyes landing on a tattered old cap that seemed to have been tossed aside hastily near the first body. “It looks like our fugitive got to them first.” His brows lowered at the reminder of Barnes. Tony almost felt sorry for these poor bastards knowing they'd met their end at the hands of that cold hearted murderer. Almost.

Just then, an incoming call popped up on his visor. Tony just took enough time to register it was Rhodey before he answered.

“Talk to me. God, I could use some good news right about now – ”

“Tony, what the hell happened?” His friend's voice came through in perfect clarity, almost like he was standing right beside him.

Tony resisted the urge to open his helmet and scrub at tired eyes. Now that the rush of adrenaline from the fight was leaving him he felt even more drained than he had before. “There was...” he sighed, looking down at the bodies again. “A change of plan. And not the good kind.”

“I just got a call from Secretary Ross, an' he didn't have anything nice to say.”

“Oh goodie – I'd hate for him to be kept outta the loop. Bet he got a kick outta this one...” Tony grumbled, resting his iron hands heavily on his hips. He glanced back in the direction of the hospital, going over everything again in his head. It had all happened so damn fast.

“Any casualties?”

“No civilians, but... I lost Barnes. Again.”

He could practically hear Rhodey shaking his head in exasperation. “Forget about Barnes – this is bigger than Barnes! An' you're not gonna like what comes next.” He sounded serious then, something that really caught Tony's attention.

There was a moment of pause.

“Hold up, what are we talking about here?”

Rhodey sighed in a way that made Tony's heart sink. “You're in a lot of trouble here, Tony, and that's excluding what went down today. King T'Challa is calling a hearing to hold you accountable for the damage you caused in Wakanda. I'm tellin' you, it ain't pretty.”

Tony scoffed. “Yeah, sure, I should have seen that one coming. Because it's not like he was the one trying to scratch my face off at the time, right? It takes two to tango.”

“Yeah, but he's a King – ”

“Now that's just an unfair advantage.” Tony spoke over him.

“Tony...” Rhodey said, and the solemn tone to his voice prevented Tony from interrupting him again. “This could be it.”

“I'm sorry – ' _it_ '? What does that mean?” Any prospect of humour died down now as Tony crossed his arms over his chest defensively. His shoulders twitched in a subconscious, irritable tick.

“It means you broke your deal with the Accords, acted outside jurisdiction and destroyed Wakandan property, and that makes you a 'dangerous liability'. Ross' words, not mine. It means they have grounds to take everything.”

“ _Everything?!_ Can you repeat that, I'm having a little trouble understanding you right now – maybe it's the ringing in my ears from the _armed gunmen I just took out_ over here?” Tony gestured around exasperatedly, as though someone would materialize out of thin air and take his side. Of course, there was only the steam and the market and the two dead bodies lying at his feet. Not ideal.

“They can take your suits. If you're no longer operating under the Accords they can't let you have unlimited access to weapons.”

“Woah woah back up there, Rhodes. Who says I'm not operating under the Accords?” Tony was caught somewhere between laughing and wanting to blow something up. He couldn't keep the indignation out of his tone, “What do they think I'm _doing here_ if I'm not working with the government to bring in a wanted fugitive?”

“Just trust me, if you don't get back soon then things are gonna get real ugly. Ugly- _er_.”

Tony screwed up his face, counting to three before he managed to get a lid on his emotions again. God, he _really_ needed some R&R after this crap-heap of a day. “Okay, alright, I'm coming back. They gonna let me load Vis up into the chopper first or is that a no-no too?” He grumbled as he turned away from the market.

“I'm sorry, Tony.” Rhodey said sincerely in his ear. Stinging with bitter resentment, it took Tony another moment to compose himself enough to avoid snapping at his friend again.

“It's not your fault. Who'da thunk today coulda got any worse, hm? I'll see you back at the compound.”

Before Tony could disconnect the line Rhodey said, “Try not to cause any more damage, will you?” He thought he heard a hint of a joke in there now, though it did little to lift the weight settling in on Tony's chest.

“You know me, 'dangerous liability' over here.” He cut the call, offended by the very thought and shaking his head in disbelief.

If Iron Man hadn't been out here just now then who knew how many civilians could have been killed? How many people had he helped over the years? How many lives had he saved? And now the idea that his own people would turn him away, just because he did one tiny little thing against their precious Accords, hurt like a bitch.

It wasn't like he'd deliberately turned his back on his friends, betrayed them all for some criminal – Cap had made his choice regardless of the consequences, and here Tony was still trying to clean up his mess and _he_ was getting punished for his efforts? He'd only been trying to get the job done that nobody else could, not that it mattered now.

Tony glowered as his eyes landed on that tattered cap lying on the ground. He'd lost Barnes again, and a mess of the freeway, two dead bodies and an attempted shooting was all he had to show for it. That was just great.

Tony looked around again at the bodies in question, heaving a huge sigh before he resumed his responsibilities again despite the shit show inevitably waiting for him when he was done. He couldn't afford to think about that right now; Vision was the top priority here. He needed to get his friend home, then he'd deal with what lay in store for his own fate.

“Alright, Friday, let's get someone in to clean this up...”

He was just about to take off into the sky and leave the market street behind when his helmet picked up a peculiar signature coming from somewhere nearby. Intrigued, Tony followed it to a tall stack of shelves housing ingredients in one of the kitchenettes. He carefully pushed the shelves aside without jostling the contents too much, revealing a strange looking gun on the floor beneath.

“What have we got here?” He said under his breath, scanning the gun thoroughly before picking it up once he knew it was safe to do so. Tony's eyebrows raised, then he felt his resentment toward losing Barnes' trail lessen just a little.

It looked like he wouldn't be going back empty handed after all.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


Sharon pushed Bucky onto the ferry with a hand on his back, submerging them both in the roaring crowd of people already on board. He'd lost his cap, and so was using his hood as the next best thing in an attempt to disguise his identity. He needn't have bothered: everyone was much too busy with their own lives to pay attention to two newcomers making their way across the deck. Still, Bucky ducked his head and avoided making eye contact with anyone.

Just as he and Sharon found a tiny space on the over-crowded ferry to cram themselves into, the boat took off, sailing away down the river and putting distance between them and the hospital. Sirens grew louder and faded as they sped in the opposite direction.

Things would eventually get under control again, with Tony Stark at the scene and all, but it didn't make Bucky feel any better. He'd just wanted to escape, he hadn't wanted to hurt anybody – he never had – but for all his efforts it seemed inevitable that wherever he went, death and destruction followed.

Bucharest, Germany, Wakanda, Hong Kong. Bucky bit back the swell of guilt and remorse threatening to overcome him at the memories, and that was only his recent history. He didn't dare go back any further for the knowledge of what else would come back to haunt him.

Maybe Stark was right, and he was far too dangerous to be let out into the world after all...? He felt it weigh into the pit of his stomach, knowing that if he'd never come to Hong Kong in the first place then none of the damage done would have happened today.

Bucky swallowed down his guilt, trying not to listen to the passengers on all sides crying and huddling together with their families. He could understand what they were saying and wished he couldn't.

A warm hand appeared on his back again, more gently this time, and Bucky went where Sharon guided him until they broke free from the crowd and emerged at the railing running along the sides of the ferry. There was slightly more space here, meaning there weren't people touching them on all sides, and Bucky was grateful for the air on his face. He took a few deep, calming breaths. His grazed ribs were still painful and slowly bleeding, but that was the least of his concerns right now.

He focused on the current of the water passing by below them as the ferry chugged along, giving himself and Sharon the perfect vessel for their escape as they left Tony Stark and the hospital and the assassins far behind. He could still taste the water lingering in the back of his throat from when he'd dived off the freeway after Steve's empty truck. It seemed like so long ago now.

Sharon appeared beside him, leaning her elbows on the railing with her hands clasped loosely together over the side. She seemed calm, despite everything, except for the slight twitch of her lips giving her away.

They stayed in silence for a while, choked by the thoughts passing between them that neither spy voiced aloud. The sun was growing heavier in the sky and more orange than golden now, as the clouds turned deep shades of pink and purple above them. Finally Bucky found his voice, careful to keep the volume down to not draw any unwanted attention.

“What were you doing there? At the hospital?” He turned his head to address her, squinting against the glare of the setting sun. Sharon met his gaze.

“Getting you outta there.” She said simply.

“Why?” Bucky challenged, still not quite convinced of her loyalty. He hoped she really was working with Steve, but if there was anything he'd learned in the past 70 years it was that when something seemed too convenient to be true, it almost always was. “You said Steve didn't send you...”

Sure, Sharon _had_ saved him and had his back during the firefight, but he was still apprehensive to trust anyone nowadays. With good reason.

“He probably doesn't even know you're out of cryo.” She said with a sigh that conveyed the inconvenience of that fact.

Bucky's eyebrows rose a fraction – she shouldn't have even known he'd gone back into cryosleep. He decided it was a legitimate sign that she must have been at least communicating with Steve at some point.

“And you didn't tell him?”

“He didn't need to know.” She said seriously, determinedly, like she was daring Bucky to challenge her again. But, actually, he kind of agreed with her. At least Steve's ignorance to the truth had kept him from running head first into Stark's trap, with Bucky as the bait. When he waited patiently for her to continue, Sharon added more calmly, “You made quite a scene on the freeway earlier. Apparently I wasn't the only one to notice...”

Her gaze grew knowing, and suddenly Bucky was fighting the urge to look away.

He'd given away his position after years of hiding not only to Sharon, but to those assassins who'd come for him as well. He'd been careless, stupid, blinded by his desire to reach his friend. And what was worse was he wasn't entirely sure he would be able to avoid making the same mistake again. Take Sharon, for example: how could he really be sure she wasn't taking advantage of him the way Stark had, leading him into a trap? Yet here he was, following her anyway.

Sharon continued, “I knew they'd come for you, and I couldn't just let them take you away. Not after the lengths Steve's gone to.” She straightened up a little, grasped the railing with both hands and looked out at the dazzling city displayed in front of them as the ferry sailed out into the bay.

Bucky nodded in understanding, his throat closing around a lump at the evidence that Steve had apparently spent the last two years trying to help Bucky, just like he'd said he would. He also felt a little humbled to be by Sharon's side then: if what she'd said was true, then she was a better person than he'd given her credit for. Risking her life for her friends was one thing, but Bucky wasn't her friend. Yet, she'd risked her life to help him anyway.

But he didn't plan on voicing any of that out loud. Instead he said, “You know who they were?”

At that, Sharon turned to meet his eyes again. “Don't you?”

Bucky scowled, scanning their surroundings cautiously to ensure nobody was listening to them.

“Hydra is gone.”

“No. They've scattered, disappeared from all our radars, but they're still out there.” Sharon said, displeased. She looked a little older right then, somehow, as though she really had spent a lot of her time trying to battle the problem but to no avail.

Bucky looked away again, watching the current pass under them and reflections of little pinpricks of light illuminate the Hong Kong skyscrapers one at a time.

Of course he'd already suspected as much – and witnessing that assassin choking out his final words through a mouthful of cyanide had done nothing to dissuade the theory – but hearing it from her lips burned Bucky like fire. Or like ice, a tomb of it closing in all around him. He concealed a shiver by stuffing his hand into his pocket and focusing on what was most important right now.

“And Steve is throwing himself into the firing line trying to track 'em down.” Bucky exhaled gruffly, knowing it was true even before Sharon said nothing to correct him. He shook his head in exasperation, not pleased at all to find this out but not entirely surprised, either. “But what's he doing out here in Hong Kong? Hydra never came out this far.”

This time it was Sharon who peered around them carefully before she lowered her voice to an almost-whisper. “There were reports of some suspicious activity outside the city a few days ago, and we think it's Hydra.”

“'We'?”

“Steve, Sam Wilson and I. I've kept in contact with them these past few years, helped out when I can. Steve wanted to check out the site for himself, see if there were any clues lying around that could provide him with any answers.”

“Answers to what?” Bucky asked, still squinting against the glare of the sun. Then something about the way she looked at him made his stomach tie itself up into knots, like she expected him to already know. It made him feel small, like she was looking right through him into the plethora of mess and guilt and murder and all of the broken parts making him up inside. And right then, the answer to his question became startlingly clear.

_You._

Bucky turned his face away from her, self-conscious and trying to subtly bury himself in the hoodie a little more. To his relief, Sharon let him.

Finally, the ferry began to slow down near a fishing harbour where a cluster of little boats bobbed out on the water. The sight of this place, unaffected by what had transpired back at the hospital, instilled Bucky with a timid sense of relief; it was cramped, messy, with people milling about minding their own business, and he thought it was charmingly beautiful. Peaceful. He savoured the view for as long as possible until the ferry eventually docked.

“Guess this is our stop. Let's go.” Sharon said quietly, breaking the silence between them. She sidled her way back into the crowd of passengers, leaving Bucky to look back at the golden Hong Kong skyline one last time before he turned away from the city and followed her.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


Crickets chirped all around, the absence of moonlight reducing the murky lake to a large dark surface in the night, disturbed only by a little fishing boat that blubbed along the riverbank. The wind had picked up since they'd left the city and a thick mist had closed in all around, making it difficult for Bucky to see the shadow of an island until they were almost upon it. He cut out the engine, wary of the reeds choking the rudder and allowed the boat to sail smoothly to shore. It bumped gently against a grassy bank.

It was a secluded place, a little island all its own with receding twilight upon it's edges and a large bulking shadow of a ruined building keeping watch from the hilltop. An ominous, out of place, inky black shape against the clouds – that building was where they were headed.

The mist had gathered on land, swirling around their ankles and trailing along in clouds after their footsteps as Bucky and Sharon climbed onto the dewy grass. They made their way slowly up the hill, the silhouette of the ruin looming out of the darkness ahead of them.

After the thriving jungle of Wakanda and the busy city of Hong Kong, this little island felt eerily desolate; it was humid, but there was a chill around that had little to do with temperature. The air was pregnant with caution and mystery, the darkness close around them, and even when Sharon pulled out a little flashlight its thin beam did little to quell Bucky's unease. He kept his gaze sharp and on alert, glancing every which way in lieu of an unforeseen attack or any surprise company.

None came.

He eyed the place with deep distrust. It seemed extremely unlikely that Steve would ever come to a place like this, and Bucky couldn't shake the feeling that all of this was a trap. It would be a perfect location for Sharon to lead him with the intention of executing him all along. Out of the way. Secluded.

He turned his gaze on her now, watching her intently as she crept toward the ruin ahead of him. She too looked uncomfortable, her shoulders just a little too tense. Bucky didn't take his eyes off her for a long few minutes.

“I need a gun.” He said deeply, suddenly, his voice breaking the fading swell of frogs and crickets from the river behind them. Sharon looked at him over her shoulder and Bucky stared her down, unmoving, unfaltering, daring her to break character.

He watched as Sharon's eyes darted over him quickly, from his face, to the void where his left arm should have been, to the blood drying on his wounded ribs, and it only proved to him that she knew he was dangerous. She was studying him, trying to find a weakness, discerning how to take him down if he attacked.

But instead of refusing him the weapon or turning hers on him, Sharon actually fished out her spare pistol and held it out for him to take. Bucky blinked, trying not to show his surprise.

Clearly she wasn't here to kill him then: she was an intelligent woman, and she wouldn't have given him an advantage like that if she was working against him. Bucky gingerly accepted the pistol. Still, he hadn't missed the way she'd checked him over, but reminded himself that Sharon knew of him as the Winter Soldier, so of course she was going to be apprehensive of giving him a weapon.

It was only as they kept moving toward the old ruin that the thought struck Bucky that _she_ might have been afraid to be here with _him_.

He tried to speak but his voice failed him, so he tried again to force it out for her to hear. “Thank you.”

Sharon looked around at him again. Bucky cleared his throat.

“Thank you for helping me.” He avoided her eyes, speeding up until he overtook her and was leading the party now. It took a lot for him to leave his back unprotected, but he thought it might be a gesture of goodwill. He heard Sharon following him, her feet crunching quietly in the grass.

“Maybe one day you'll do the same for me.”

Bucky looked up as she caught up with him, flashed him an almost-smile and then took point again. Bucky nearly smirked to himself as she deliberately put him back in his place, and couldn't deny he felt better in having more of a sense of her now and where her loyalties lay. Which meant, theoretically, he could very well be marching up this hill on his way to reunite with Steve. He hadn't really let himself believe it until now, and suddenly the prospect seemed only too real.

Bucky forced down the butterflies that sprang to life in his belly, trying not to let himself be nervous. It had only been a few days for him since he'd seen Steve after all, but knowing in reality it had been two years and considering everything they'd gone through since then, that vain attempt at rationality didn't help. He cast his eyes up at the huge building as they finally reached the base, which now he was close enough appeared to be some sort of run-down warehouse.

There were no immediate signs of life, not from Steve or from any enemies.

“Are you sure they're coming here?” He asked dubiously, leaning in to examine the mounds of stone that were spilling out of the ruined walls of the warehouse. By the looks of it they were freshly broken off.

“I was. Looks like they're gone now, though.” Sharon sighed, a little tired from the hike up the hill. She shone the torch at the wall for him, getting her breath back and looking around at the ruin herself.

The warehouse was a hollow wreck of what it once would have been, with the skeleton of the building laid bare and only three corners of the roof remaining tall. Something appeared to have destroyed it – and recently – reducing the solid foundations and thick walls into a gaping pile of brick and mortar.

He couldn't be sure with the limited visibility of nightfall, but there were dark stains on the rock that looked reminiscent of some sort of explosion that had emanated from inside. Bucky straightened up, backing away from the wall to gaze up at the night sky visible through the huge gaps in the roof.

This mess wasn't an accident or erosion – it was man made.

“...You don't think they were in there when...?” Bucky's voice was quiet and died quickly in the uneasy air. He started off around the side of the warehouse, looking for a way in or anything else of interest.

“No. This disturbance was what they came to figure out.” Sharon followed him with the torch, illuminating the way and casting grotesque shadows up the crumbling building.

After a further examination of the place there seemed to be nobody inside, and Bucky couldn't help but feel the weight of disappointment settling in his gut. He turned his attention back to Sharon, stowing the pistol in his belt and trying not to sound accusatory. “Do you keep in close contact? How recent is your informat –”

His question was cut off when something fast, small and sharp whistled through the air toward them out of the darkness and fog. Bucky recognised the tell-tale whiz of a speeding projectile just too late and something battered into his side, sending him crashing into the large, jagged pile of rubble at the base of the wall – he landed heavily, painfully, his breath knocked out of him as he tried desperately to orientate himself. He felt bruises bloom on his body, the nearly healed bullet graze from earlier splitting open again and spilling wet hotness down his skin. He gasped for breath, blinking away black spots from his vision.

Bucky was aware of Sharon's torchlight swinging around in the darkness, catching fleeting glimpses of a small, silver boomerang type of weapon disappearing back into the night. He groaned painfully, pushing himself up just in time to see Sharon be struck next and sent sprawling to the ground. Her gun and torch dropped uselessly aside.

Bucky climbed to his feet and drew the pistol from his belt. He was now looking into complete darkness without the flashlight to aid him, and relied solely on his training to assess the empty stretch of blackness for the weapon and their attacker.

Silently, Bucky crossed over to where Sharon had fallen, standing in front of her and straining his ears to hear past her laboured breaths. His heartbeat was pounding in his chest, his senses alight and telling him what to do and exactly when to do it –

Just a moment before there was another incoming whoosh, Bucky ducked and wheeled around, tracking the weapon with his gun in the dark and shooting out a trail of bullets in its wake. It was fast, too fast for Bucky, until his sixth bullet hit and the weapon's smooth, streamlined arc was broken. It fell into an almost frenzy before thumping into the grass somewhere and dashing any hope of finding it again.

Bucky wasn't convinced that would be the last of it, if there weren't any more out there, and turned his attention to trying to find the person attacking them; it was useless, he couldn't see anything, so he snatched up the torch from the ground in an attempt to shut it off and essentially disappear into the darkness himself.

But before he could, a voice called from behind him in Cantonese, “ _Don't move! Hands where I can see them_.”

Bucky froze, and then very slowly and carefully straightened up to his full height. He heard the safety click off on a gun undoubtedly pointed at his back, and cursed himself for walking into an ambush after all. Even if it wasn't Sharon's doing.

His spine prickled under the threat and he glanced down at her on the ground, with her hair all a mess over her face and her eyes wide as they looked up at him. Then she raised both hands in surrender, as taken off guard by this surprise attack as Bucky was.

He raised his only arm up by his head, the torchlight going with it and giving him away like the illuminated target he was. Bucky grit his teeth, not having come all this way just to be caught by someone else now. His grip tightened on the flashlight, if only to let out some of his building frustration at the current unfortunate situation.

“ _Both hands!_ ” The voice demanded, and Bucky briefly closed his eyes in defeat. He didn't move, he didn't dare even speak. Nothing he said was likely to change this attacker's mind, anyway.

He opened his eyes again just in time to see a large shape drop expertly from the warehouse wall, landing almost silently nearby. It was a few feet away and when it straightened up he thought he could make out the vague silhouette of a man – Bucky's gut twisted as his mind immediately conjured up the image of the masked man from the city, his bulk materializing out of the dark before him.

Bucky's heartbeat skyrocketed, fear, anticipation and adrenaline tingling through his veins and making him even more restless. Had he followed them here? No; this felt like a trap that had been perfectly planned and executed by a coordinated team. Who knew how many of them there were, hiding just out of sight?

He should have seen it coming. He should have _known._ That's what he'd been trained for. He was the goddamn Winter Soldier – it should be easy to take these guys out! Bucky felt the rise of desperation in his chest, quickly turning to anger and then determination.

They had no idea who they were dealing with.

“ _I said both hands!_ ” The voice behind him demanded.

Bucky made a split second decision then, one that set everything in motion all over again: he dropped the torch.

He heard it thump into the grass but Bucky was already ducking into the night – shrouded in darkness, he curled around at lightning speed to avoid the inevitable gunshot that was aimed at his back. Now with the same stealthy advantage as his attackers, Bucky used the _bang!_ that rang out to judge the position of the shooter before running blindly into the dark. There he collided with a person, sending them both sprawling to the ground together.

The man's body crumpled under Bucky's weight and he heard the air wheeze out of him. The swirling mist was only growing thicker around them, but as his eyesight adjusted he could make out just enough of a slight indication of a person to get an idea of where to aim. He punched in the direction of where the face should be, knuckles colliding with something hard.

There was a yell and the cracking of glass, and Bucky just had enough time to feel a small sense of satisfaction before he received a well-aimed fist to his injured side and cried out himself. Momentarily distracted, Bucky's eyes watered and then he was being pushed aside, the man rolling on top of him and attempting to keep him down on the ground. But even when distracted, he was no match for Bucky's enhanced strength, and he expertly rolled them over again until he had the position of advantage.

If he'd had his metal arm this would have been over in a heartbeat, Bucky thought as he tugged grabbing hands away from his face and fingers that tangled in his long hair. His fresh bruises twinged and his stomach felt sticky with the blood from his ribs, but Bucky was winning the fight. At least until something – the masked man, he knew instinctively – tackled him with the force of a train, slamming into Bucky's aching body and knocking him sideways.

The fog parted around their movements, distorting the image around him as he rolled to a stop on his back again. This time he was pinned down by an impossible weight that he already knew wouldn't be so easy to dislodge.

It was like wrestling with a bear – his opponent was ferocious and unpredictable and just full, unbridled strength. Bucky panicked as he realised he was losing, and then large, powerful hands fisted in his collar and lifted his head and shoulders right off the ground. He could do nothing to defend himself except tense up in anticipation of a huge heavy blow to the face and just wait for it to be over.

“ _Drop him!_ ”

Suddenly there was a blinding light stabbing at his eyes and Bucky had to blink before he worked out that Sharon was beside him, holding both the torch and her gun aloft at Bucky and the man on top of him. He blinked a few more times, confused, before coming to the conclusion that the fight was momentarily on pause; and then Bucky looked up into the face above his, and all of the fight and the fear and adrenaline drained away.

There was no black helmet concealing the identity of a mysterious masked man. Instead, baby blue eyes widened and stared back down at him, shining with shock and recognition.

“Bucky?!”

Bucky practically collapsed his weight in relief, sagging into the hands that gently lowered him back down onto the grass. He gazed up into that face as they continued to stare at each other in a stunned silence, then a slow curve caught the corner of Bucky's mouth. He allowed himself a smile, his first in a long time, and it felt incredible.

“Hey, Steve.”  
  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was it quite as dramatic as Steve's timely reveal in Infinity War? Probably not, but you've been patient with me and now we finally have some more of our beloved Marvel characters in the mix! It looks like Tony is going to have to face the music for his actions during the past 5 chapters (whether he likes it or not) and I'm excited to actually get Steve involved now, but since there's still a whole lot of story left to go you can bet things aren't exactly going to go smoothly for the team xD Stay tuned to see Steve and Bucky properly interacting in the next chapter!
> 
> Again, I've never been to Hong Kong myself and am working mostly off of what I've seen in movies and my own research. I looked up the most prominently spoken language in Hong Kong which is apparently Cantonese, but if anyone knows this is incorrect just let me know and I'll correct it :) 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, and have a great holiday and New Year! x


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